Great Deeds: Volume III
by My Dear Professor McGonagall
Summary: Part III of a collection of moments in the life of Minerva McGonagall. "For there are many great deeds done in the small struggles of life." - Victor Hugo
1. Security

Oh, the hell with it. If we're going to keep going, let's keep going! Here's a lovely long chapter to kick off Book 3 and Volume III of 'Great Deeds'!

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26 July 1993

"Welcome, Minister," Minerva said, as Cornelius Fudge appeared outside the castle gates, flanked by a team of three Aurors—two wizards and a witch. Minerva stepped forward and unlocked the gates immediately.

"Minerva m'dear, thank you," said Fudge, greeting her in his too-warm way that still set her teeth on edge. She said nothing as he gave her a slightly awkward embrace in greeting, as though they were old friends.

"The headmaster is waiting," she said, when he'd released her. "If you'll all follow me…"

She led the way to Dumbledore's study. The Aurors were all conspicuously silent—which did not help Minerva place their identities, though they were certainly all young enough to have been her students at one time or another.

Fudge, on the other hand, was babbling in the way he always did when he was nervous, twirling his lime-green bowler hat in his hands as they climbed the stairs.

"You wouldn't believe it, Minerva, the things we've been dealing with, the dementors are in an uproar… He just vanished in the dead of night, we've no idea how… I hope Dumbledore will be prepared to accept some extra hands with security…"

"Well, we shall be very open to recommendations, I'm sure, but the castle is quite safe, I can assure you," Minerva said, with just a hint of dry sarcasm in her tone. She held open the office door, and one of the Aurors—a tall, broad-shouldered black wizard with a bald head and a gold earring—caught her eye, looking amused. Then his expression became stoic again as she shut the door.

"Dumbledore, thank you for seeing us," said Fudge, shaking Albus's hand as he stood behind his desk.

"Of course, Cornelius," Albus replied graciously. "Won't you have a seat? Please—" he picked up his wand, and three additional chairs appeared for the three Aurors.

"Ah, yes—Dumbledore, this is the team Rufus Scrimgeour has assigned to capture Black," said Fudge. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, the lead Auror in the investigation—"

The black wizard stepped forward and shook Albus's hand.

"This is Elspeth Ermitage, and you remember John Dawlish, of course," Fudge went on.

"I remember you all quite well from your school days," said Albus. "I am sure each of you is more than equal to the task before you."

"If I may, Professor Dumbledore," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in a deep, calm voice that Minerva immediately remembered: he had been a Ravenclaw, a few years younger than Sirius Black and the Potters. "I would like to examine the castle's points of entry, including all of the known secret passages, as well as Gryffindor Tower—I understand that is Harry Potter's dormitory?"

"It is," Minerva said. "Does that mean that—Black really is after Potter?"

There was a heavy silence for several seconds.

"I'm afraid he is," said Fudge. "But he won't get far. We're hoping to have Black in hand before any of the extra security is needed here at the castle. This is all precautionary, of course. We will also be placing protection around Potter's Muggle family—"

"That is inadvisable," said Albus, firmly but calmly. "Harry is protected in that house by deeper magic than can be provided by a Ministry presence, and does not require anything beyond that."

The female Auror stepped forward. "Surely someone ought to visit them, explain the situation? They might be grateful for a little extra protection."

Minerva could have laughed. "They are not the sort of Muggles who would appreciate a visit of any kind from wizards," she told her. "Potter has been very safe there for the last twelve years, but that family will not take kindly to any interference in their routine. Albus is right; putting reinforcements in a Muggle suburb is not necessary."

She didn't mention that Albus also still received information from Arabella Figg regarding Potter's safety and wellbeing; the Ministry did not set much store in the skills of Squibs, however valuable their knowledge of the magical and Muggle worlds might be.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was eyeing Dumbledore closely, as though he were deciding something important. "Very well. Then we can conserve our resources," he said to Fudge, who looked troubled, but then seemed to relent in the face of economy.

"All right, then, Shacklebolt, if you think so…"

A knock came at the door, and Minerva opened it. Argus Filch, summoned pre-emptively by Dumbledore when Minerva had gone to the front gates, stood on the threshold, glowering at Fudge and the Aurors.

"Ah, very good. Mr. Filch, would you please show our guests to Gryffindor Tower?" asked Albus, gesturing at the Aurors. "They will also need your guidance to the secret passages, to conduct an examination."

There came a loud _meow_ , and Minerva saw Mrs. Norris curled around Filch's ankles. Involuntarily, she wrinkled her nose.

"Ar, this way," said Filch, gesturing for the Aurors to follow him back down the stairs.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stopped at the door and said, "Thank you very much, headmaster."

Albus smiled and inclined his head. The door shut, and then Minerva, Albus, and Cornelius Fudge were alone. Albus vanished the extra chairs with a wave of his wand, and Minerva sat down beside Fudge, who perched his bowler hat on his knee, looking suddenly much more nervous without his team of Aurors. He gave an awkward smile.

"Well," he said. "How are your summers going?"

Minerva stared at him, and he laughed quickly, as though he'd intended the remark as a joke, and then he took a deep breath.

"There's another matter I'd like to discuss with you both, regarding your need for another new Defense Against the Dark Arts' instructor. I understand that I may not have any experience in the academic world—but I would be more than happy to offer a Ministry employee, perhaps one selected by Scrimgeour, given the subject in question, so as to minimize any threats to the school's security—"

Minerva's eyes narrowed. He wanted to place a Ministry worker at the school? This was an unexpectedly bold side of Fudge she had never seen before. She looked at Albus, whose expression was cool.

"Thank you very much, Cornelius," he said, when Fudge had stammered into silence, "but we have the matter handled, at this time. We will be employing Remus Lupin to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He agreed only this morning, and we are pleased to be welcoming him to the staff."

"Remus—Lupin?" Fudge asked. Minerva, though she had been quite as blindsided as Fudge himself when she'd received this news upon her arrival this morning, saw the familiar pieces drop into place in his brain. "Isn't he a—a _werewolf?"_

"And a fully qualified graduate of this school," said Minerva, bristling at once with indignation.

Fudge looked uneasy. "Is that wise, Dumbledore?" he asked, ignoring Minerva, who felt her lips tighten over a retort.

"I understand your reticence, of course," said Albus, smiling slightly, "but I have hired teachers with less experience teaching in their chosen field, Minerva among them." She threw him a look, and though he was not meeting her eyes, he smiled more widely.

Fudge seemed ready to press the point, but he closed his mouth again. "Well, ah—in that case…well, that will be…fine," he finished lamely. He cleared his throat. "There was one other thing, Dumbledore…"

Albus inclined his head, politely curious.

"Scrimgeour and a number of others," Fudge began, looking uncomfortable, "myself included, have suggested that if Black isn't caught by the time the students return, then perhaps a small number of Azkaban guards could be placed on the grounds as protection—"

" _What?"_ Minerva burst out. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am afraid that will not be possible, Cornelius," said Albus, and his voice was like ice. It stilled both Minerva and Fudge in their seats. "I will not permit the presence of dementors in this castle."

Fudge looked momentarily dumbstruck. Then he sat forward. "No, now—on the _grounds_ , you know, they won't have access to the castle—"

"All the same," Albus interrupted evenly, "a dementor requires a human population from which to feed, and it does not care what the nature of that population is—prisoner, student, innocent, guilty—it simply feeds. I have given my opinion on the use of dementors as jailers many times in my capacity on the Wizengamot, and while I accept that I cannot sway public opinion on my own, I will not allow them near my pupils."

Surprisingly, Fudge was not looking cowed, but his own expression had become flinty. "There are parents of young children who would be horrified to hear you say that."

"There are others who would be horrified to hear him say the opposite," Minerva said, and Fudge frowned at her. She had a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of a dementor, and she was sure it showed in her face.

"They'll be in Hogsmeade," said Fudge, his tone becoming brisk and snappish. "They'll already be patrolling close by. It only makes sense." He suddenly stopped spinning the hat in his lap. "No, I'm afraid I can't let you have it your way this time, Dumbledore. It's my decision, as Minister for Magic, though I hoped to get your support. They'll keep watch on the border of the grounds, and be under strict orders to come no closer."

"Then… I accept that it is your decision," said Albus simply, his features impassive, but Minerva was sure she could see something change in Fudge's demeanor. "But I expect the dementors to be removed at the very moment Sirius Black is apprehended—or if they pose a threat to any student of this school."

Fudge waved a hand impatiently, as though this was a negligible risk. "Of course, of course."

The office door opened suddenly, and the Aurors reappeared, Filch in tow.

"Done, Shacklebolt? Good," said Fudge, rising immediately. "I've just finished explaining the dementors' orders. If that's all…?" He looked from Shacklebolt to Dumbledore, who shook his head slowly.

"That's all for me, Minister," said Shacklebolt. He gave a slight bow of his head to Dumbledore and Minerva in turn. "Headmaster…Professor McGonagall. You can contact us at any time with concerns."

Minerva and Albus rose too, and said their farewells to Fudge and the three Aurors. When they'd gone and it was just the two of them, Minerva rounded on Albus.

"Inexperienced, eh?" she asked.

Albus smiled slightly. "It was rather a compliment of your remarkable adaptability and skill."

"And were you going to tell Fudge that your newest member of staff was also once Sirius Black's best friend?" Minerva asked, crossing her arms.

Albus chuckled, and her frown deepened. "You sound like Severus."

"Severus knows?" Minerva demanded, her eyebrows shooting upward.

"It was an eventful evening," said Albus cryptically. Then he explained, "Severus brought me the news, and saw me write to Remus last night." He looked at Minerva carefully. "You don't really believe him to be a risk?"

"Of course not," Minerva told him, as she sat down again. "I…well, I know that you've been monitoring his situation…helping him out. So, no. I don't believe he would ever betray you."

"Nor do I," said Albus. "All the same, Severus is very unhappy about the matter."

"We'll be keeping his secret again, won't we?" Minerva asked. She glanced to the door. "Fudge will, too? How did he even know? He can't possibly have memorized the Werewolf Registry…"

"We will," said Albus. "When Severus has calmed down, I will ask him to consent to making a regular Wolfsbane Potion for Remus. It's a most effective drug, he assures me, and will prevent his need for the measures we took during his time as a student. I believe that Cornelius knows of Remus's condition because of an assistant of his, who is currently pushing a piece of legislation through the Wizengamot restricting the availability of jobs to werewolves and other partial-humans. It was a mistake to reveal to me that he knows Remus's name, and he has undoubtedly realized that by now—it means he has helped Madam Umbridge draft her suggested law, which he knows I have vehemently opposed. She is drawing from a partial registry of 'suspicious' werewolves that the Ministry developed during the height of Voldemort's power. He won't say anything more."

Minerva massaged her temples. "All right. Well…then…that's our teaching roster filled, isn't it? Septima Vector accepted the Arithmancy post, I saw her letter on my desk…" She sighed. "I can send out booklists, and—oh, Merlin's pants."

Albus looked amused, but Minerva pressed on. "Potter is a third year. He can get permission to go to Hogsmeade on the weekends."

Albus shook his head. "An occasional day trip will not put him in any grave peril," he said.

"But—but Albus, if Black is looking for him—" Minerva stammered, "how can we just let him wander about?"

Albus gave a slight sigh. "I hesitate to make Harry any more alarmed than he already might be… extra restrictions might only engender that…curiosity…of his."

"And that's another thing," Minerva said, "who's going to tell Potter about Black?"

"No one, for now," said Albus calmly. "I would like very much to explain it to him…all of it, not simply pieces. And I will, when it becomes necessary. For now…I think Harry would be best served by beginning his third year in relative peace. Don't you?"

Minerva frowned. Honestly, she felt that this was Dumbledore's blind spot for Potter showing itself again…but she also couldn't imagine trying to explain the complexities surrounding Sirius Black and Potter's parents. How could she—or anyone, really—be expected to satisfactorily explain to Harry that not only was he being hunted by a madman, that same madman was responsible for the murders of his parents? Hadn't he coped with enough?

The cold nausea was returning to Minerva's stomach, and she swallowed. "I'll hope that Black is caught early, and returned to Azkaban, where he belongs."

It was a deflection, and they both knew it, but Minerva meant every word. If Harry never had to know one of the worst parts of his parents' deaths, then she would be eternally grateful.

"I…have a thought," she said, breaking the silence. "I'm sure Remus wouldn't mind…"

"Mind?" Albus asked politely.

"If Black isn't caught by then, I think Remus ought to ride the Hogwarts Express on the first. I know teachers don't usually use it, but it might stop Fudge from putting a dementor on the train," she said. "He can just be an extra presence onboard—the trolley witch is very capable, of course, and so is the conductor, but, just in case."

"A very good suggestion," said Albus, smiling.

"I shall write to him, then," she replied. "I'll have to get his textbook ordered into Flourish and Blotts, anyhow… we can't keep going on those wretched Lockhart rags."


	2. Rumors

7 August 1993

Minerva yawned as she ascended the steps to her living quarters, thinking only of a hot bath and heading to bed. She had been at the Ministry of Magic since dawn, filing paperwork and then sitting in interviews with no fewer than four Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries, trying to obtain Hermione Granger's Time-Turner. Given that the Department of Mysteries prided itself on its secrecy, Minerva thought they did an excellent job of providing mystifying amounts of bureaucratic nonsense and procedures.

All the same, she now had the Time-Turner in hand, as well as the contract that Granger would have to sign so that Minerva could return it to the Ministry. Broderick Bode, the Unspeakable who had reviewed Minerva's application on Hermione's behalf, had made it clear that it was usually against protocol to allow someone other than the user of the Time-Turner to accept it.

"Well, you can either give it to me now, or use the Royal Mail to send it to her parents' dental office in Kent," she had burst out at last, throwing her hands up in slightly hysterical frustration. "She's using it to do extra lessons, and that's it! I wouldn't even be here if I'd done my job and talked her out of taking a dozen classes at a time, but here we are, so surely we can make this a more painless process for us both?!"

Bode had surveyed her, unfazed by the outburst, for several moments. Then he signed a piece of parchment and slid it into an inch-thick folder of paperwork that Minerva was expected to keep on file until the Time-Turner was given back to the Ministry. "Very well, Ms. McGonagall. Hoskins will be out shortly with the parcel. Do see that it's returned in good condition."

 _Good condition, indeed,_ she sniffed. She was just laying her hand on her door, about to unlock it, when a shadow descended upon her.

"Ah, Minerva!"

Minerva crashed backwards into the door and winced, massaging her shoulder. "Ouch—Sybill? What on earth are you doing here?"

Sybill Trelawney stood before her, eyes magnified and thin frame draped in glittering shawls, looking disapprovingly at Minerva's reaction to her appearance. "I have returned from my holiday early, should my expertise be required…"

She trailed off, and Minerva had a feeling Sybill had been thinking that she might be able to provide insight in the hunt for Sirius Black. She wondered vaguely if Sybill hadn't paid a visit to the Ministry… or perhaps the _Daily Prophet_. She sighed heavily and unlocked her office door with a flick of her wand, gesturing for Sybill to enter. "What can I do for you, Sybill?"

"I was reviewing my roster of new students," said Sybill in her misty voice, fluttering into Minerva's office in a cloud of flowing, sparkling shawls, "And I wondered whether you had noticed that Harry Potter has joined my third year class?"

Minerva lit all of the candles and the fireplace with a sweep of her wand. She then set the box and file folder from the Department of Mysteries on the desk and sat down. "I did notice," she said, folding her hands across her lap. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," said Sybill, turning impressively and laying a hand on her chest, looking scandalized at the very suggestion.

Minerva stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, slumping down slightly in her chair. "In that case, it's very late, Sybill, and if there's nothing…"

"I thought perhaps, _Minerva_ ," said Sybill, a little of her dreamy tone melting away, "as Potter's head of house, you could give me an insight into his state of mind. How might I best serve the boy? He clearly has had a dark and difficult past, and now wishes to plumb the secrets of his future."

She sat down in front of Minerva, watching her expectantly. Privately, Minerva thought that it was more likely Potter had chosen Divination because Ron Weasley had done so, but she wasn't going to say that. In any case, she was more intrigued by Sybill's sudden desire for gossip, which had apparently outweighed their mutual, unspoken understanding that they would avoid disturbing one another at all costs.

"Potter," Minerva sighed, "is just like any other student you've ever had, Sybill. He is bright and clever, and I am sure that if you simply allow him to blend in with the crowd…" She hesitated. "You don't…well, there's no need to single him out," she said, trying to put more meaning into her words.

Sybill's magnified eyes narrowed. "I must respond to the promptings of my Inner Eye, Minerva, as you well know," she said coolly. There was a long stretch of silence.

"Of course you must," Minerva replied heavily.

"If my Inner Eye beholds a grave prophecy for a student, is it not my duty to convey that message, and allow that person to be forewarned?" Sybill was sounding shocked by Minerva's nonchalance.

"Of course it is," said Minerva, suddenly too tired to argue.

Unsatisfied, Sybill narrowed her eyes and sniffed. "Very well," she said. "If you have no information to provide about the boy…"

Minerva raised her hands in a gesture of forlorn defeat and profound regret. Sybill sniffed again and prepared to leave. "I shall keep you abreast of any particularly important messages I receive," she said, in an infinitely patient and long-suffering tone.

"Thank you," Minerva replied, and Sybill swept from the room. Minerva released a long, heavy sigh. She knew she ought to get up and go straight to bed, but she was having a hard time contemplating attempting to move, at the moment.

As she sat back, her eyes closed, her hands resting on the arms of the chair, she heard a telltale _whoosh_ from her fireplace. She did not open her eyes.

"I would ask you yet again why you insist on offering Divination," she said, "but I'm confident I wouldn't hear an answer I liked. What can I do for you, Albus?" She yawned into the back of her hand again and sat up.

Dumbledore was settling himself into one of her chairs. He folded his hands on his knee and asked. "Were you successful in obtaining Miss Granger's Time-Turner?"

"I was," Minerva said, patting the box on her desk. "After much trial and tribulation."

"Excellent," Albus replied with a smile. "You must have left very early this morning."

"About six. Why?"

Albus shrugged. Then he said, "Harry Potter—accidentally, I am sure—inflated his uncle's sister last night at the dinner table, and fled Little Whinging on the Knight Bus. He is currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron under the watch of Tom the barman and a half dozen or so undercover Aurors stationed in the pub and Diagon Alley, where he will be spending the remainder of his summer holidays."

Minerva stared at him, unable to react.

"I communicated with the Dursleys directly to ensure that they would take Harry back again next summer," said Albus. "So, all is well. I only thought you should be made aware of the temporary change in Harry's living situation."

It was a moment before Minerva recovered her powers of speech. When she did, she chose a question to which the answer, she hoped, would not make her furious. "Do—how did he know how to call the Knight Bus?" she asked.

Dumbledore chuckled; for all of his good humor now, Minerva was sure that this morning, he had been quite as distressed by this turn of events as she was. "As to that, I cannot say. You will have to ask him yourself. But Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour are both satisfied with his security, for the time being—"

"Well, I'm writing to Florean Fortescue this moment and asking him to keep an eye out for Harry," said Minerva. She sat forward and snatched up her quill and a stack of writing parchment. "He's an old friend of Rob's… oh, and Malcolm too, his office is right there in the alley, he can make himself useful…"


	3. Protection

HEY LOOK WHO'S BACK

Guys. Who knew that doing my own Minerva thing would make it so difficult for me to keep up around here. I thought this time, I'd combine my QLFC and WAY overdue GD update. :)

Prompt: Write a slice of life story set on a summer day.

It's not fluffy, but it's a bit of life! Enjoy :)

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20 August 1993

Minerva hurried through the corridor from her office to the staircase, feeling a spring in her step that seemed incongruous with yet another week of inconclusive results in the hunt for Sirius Black. She and Pomona had shared the _Daily Prophet_ that very morning—which, in addition to announcements about the final player rosters for Scotland, Wales, and Britain's World Cup teams, contained a very unpleasant poison pen column by none other than Rita Skeeter. Just as she had twelve years ago during the Death Eater trials and Sirius Black's incarceration, Rita Skeeter was emerging from her usual 'Me, Myself, & I' gossip column to cover current events with an extra dash of fear-mongering and rumors.

Her idea of 'coverage' also included a very, very nasty article regarding Rufus Scrimgeour's leadership of the Aurors, the bungling of the Black case on the part of the Ministry, and speculation that Black could be interested in facilitating more breakouts from Azkaban, including that of his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

At any rate, Minerva had been in a dark mood, indeed, until she'd been summoned to Albus's office – and she was fairly sure she knew why. She rounded the last corner before the gargoyle and gave the password. It sprang to one side and Minerva took the stairs two at a time, hoping that she was right in what she suspected lay behind the door. She rapped the brass knocker twice before turning the handle and stepping inside. The office was hot, the brilliant summer sun filtering through the high windows, which showed a sky of dazzling sapphire blue.

And, sure enough, in one of the chairs before Albus's desk, looking thin, tired, and far too gray-haired for his thirtyish years, sat Remus Lupin.

Lupin smiled at Minerva's arrival and started to stand up. "It's been a long time, Professor," he said, extending a hand to shake hers. She grasped it, unable to stop her smile.

"How have you been? _Where_ have you been?" she asked. Though she had run into Lupin all those years ago in the Hog's Head after Finn's death, and had kept up occasional contact with him in the intervening time, Minerva could not remember the last time she had heard of Lupin's whereabouts. His personal difficulties notwithstanding, for as long as Minerva had known him, Remus Lupin had always made a conscious effort to avoid burdening others, even when they were prepared to help him.

Dumbledore looked delighted; his blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses as Minerva sat down beside Lupin.

"Abroad," said Lupin simply. "You know, the wizarding governments in Scandinavia has adopted a slightly less draconian outlook towards those afflicted with my condition. It's even possible for werewolves to hold government positions in Denmark. Or, it was until recently. They've had a change in leadership; the new minister does not appear to be as open-minded."

"Well, we're thrilled to have you back here," said Minerva honestly.

"I have spent much of this visit saying quite the same thing," Albus added, inclining his head towards Remus with a smile.

"I'm thrilled to be here," Lupin agreed. He shifted slightly in his seat. "Not that I'm ungrateful for the opportunity to visit with both of you prior to my employment, but Professor Dumbledore indicated that there was a matter you wished to discuss?"

"Yes," Minerva sat up. "Several things. First, you know that Severus Snape has agreed to make the Wolfsbane Potion for you. However, should you feel that this precautionary measure is insufficient, we are happy to help you seek additional methods."

She watched Lupin carefully as she spoke; quite apart from not wishing to embarrass him, Minerva wanted to be absolutely sure that any and all teenaged resentments would not present themselves when Snape and Lupin began working in close quarters. If this plan bothered him, however, Lupin kept it to himself.

"I appreciate that," he replied, with a serious nod and a grave expression. "I don't believe it will be necessary, the potion is… effective."

"We have a second request," interjected Dumbledore gently, "Regarding the Hogwarts Express."

Lupin looked taken aback; his brows knit, and he asked, "Regarding the train?"

"Unless Sirius Black is captured within the next two weeks," Minerva began slowly, "The Ministry of Magic will be placing dementors at the edge of the grounds to guard the castle. We have not been given a say in the matter," she added, correctly interpreting the look on Lupin's prematurely lined face.

"This undoubtedly means that there will be a search of the train at some point," said Dumbledore, "if not a mandated security presence on board."

Lupin appeared to be slightly nauseated. "Surely not," he said slowly. "They wouldn't put one of those creatures on a train full of…" He looked from Minerva to Dumbledore, and back again. His expression hardened. "What is it you need me to do?"

"We'd like for you to ride the train with the students, if you've no objection," Minerva told him. "And we'd like you, in particular, to keep an eye on Harry."

"Harry?" Lupin's expression was blank for a moment—then, the name seemed to register. Minerva could almost see him hurtling backwards through the years, as though he were wearing Hermione Granger's new Time-Turner. "Oh," he said slowly, "that—that's right."

"He isn't a baby anymore, Remus," said Dumbledore.

"Isn't—isn't that strange? I knew he was here, knew he was old enough…" Lupin's expression shifted again. "Do you mean to tell me that S—the breakout from Azkaban—has something to do with Harry?"

Dumbledore met Lupin with the same grave look he had given Minerva days before. Lupin rubbed his face hard and sat forward.

"You know that I have not spoken to—him?" he asked, his tone becoming so dark that Minerva knew he could only be referring to Black. "I've grappled with what he did to—to all of us—for years, but… you know that I would never seek to help him, now that he's escaped? That I would do anything to protect Harry from him?"

"Of course," Minerva said. "That's why we would like you to be on the train when it leaves King's Cross. There is no need for you to seek Harry out, if you have no desire to do so, but the presence of someone as experienced with dementors as yourself would not go amiss."

"Anything at all," Lupin said, his jaw set.

"Then it's settled," said Dumbledore. He rose. "On a lighter note… perhaps we could show Professor Lupin to his classroom and quarters?" he asked Minerva.

Lupin looked somewhat startled by the use of his new title, and Minerva felt a great rush of nostalgic affection—and pain, mingled in with it—at the expression he wore. She felt as though she, too, had traveled back to touch the past when Lupin had; she was seeing all the versions of him that she had known as she opened the office door for him.

She caught his elbow as he made to follow Albus down the spiral stairs. "Welcome home, Remus," she said, surprised by the emotion in her own voice.

One corner of his mouth pulled up—for a moment, he was his teenage self. "Thanks, Professor."


	4. Command

Round 13! It sneaked up on me, y'all!

Anyway, I had to write about a dominant character (chess prompt - Queen). If that's not cause for a new chapter of GD, I don't know what is! I promise I'll have more soon, my loves! Real life has been TAXING!

MDPM

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1 September 1993

"I don't like this," Minerva said, hugging herself tightly as she stood beside Severus in the open front door of the castle. A pair of dementors hovered over the castle gates at the base of the drive, and Minerva knew there were dozens more in the forest and around the edge of the grounds.

"You don't like the dementors, or the idea of Black being apprehended by them?" Severus asked dryly.

Minerva glared at him. "Don't be spiteful."

"It isn't spite if it's what he deserves," Snape replied.

She started to answer him, but was interrupted by a commotion on the marble staircase in the entrance hall. Pomona was rushing towards them, waving an envelope in one hand.

"Minerva! This just arrived," she said, thrusting the letter at her. "It's from Remus Lupin, on the train…"

Minerva frowned and tore into the envelope, barely aware of Pomona's worried gaze or the ugly expression on Snape's face at the mention of Lupin. He had been conspicuously absent from staff meetings on those days when Lupin had been in attendance, and the two had not yet met beyond a brief meeting to discuss the particulars of brewing the Wolfsbane Potion on a monthly basis—which, Albus assured Minerva, Severus had consented to do, albeit grudgingly.

Minerva's eyes narrowed as she scanned the note.

 _Dementors, as expected, near Dufftown. All seems well now; we're on our way._

 _Harry collapsed when the dementor entered our compartment._

 _I used a Patronus to drive it off and have revived him; he's with his friends and seems better._

 _See you soon,_

 _R.J.L._

She crushed the parchment in her hand. "Damn," she cursed under her breath, her teeth grinding together. She thought for a moment, glancing from Pomona to Severus and around the entrance hall, which was full of staff milling about, awaiting Albus's arrival to welcome them into the Great Hall. Without another moment's pause, she sprang into action.

"Fil—oh, Filius," she said, striding forward and waving him over across the flagstones of the entrance hall. "Filius, I would like you to take over the Sorting Ceremony for this evening. I need to make sure that Potter is seen by Poppy immediately when he arrives."

"Seen by Poppy?" Filius squeaked curiously.

"Dementors." She gave him a dark look and he shook his head.

"Of course, of course…" Filius clucked his tongue and headed in the direction of the stairs to Albus's office to retrieve the Sorting Hat.

"Severus, if you would go to the hospital wing and ask Madam Pomfrey to come down to my office on the first floor as soon as the students arr—"

"Are we perhaps being a bit alarmist?" Snape asked. "What is it exactly that's happened to Potter?"

Pomona opened her mouth to retort, but Minerva cut in coolly, "I can't possibly imagine what he experiences when he is near a dementor, Severus, but if it is serious enough to make him collapse, then I would like him to be seen by Madam Pomfrey. Have you any other helpful suggestions for me, or are you going to speak to Poppy?"

 _"I'll_ go," Pomona interrupted, throwing up a hand between Severus and Minerva's scowling faces to indicate that she had a very low opinion of their squabbling.

Snape punctuated the end of the conversation with a sour look, and Minerva had to restrain herself from casting a well-aimed Jelly-Legs Jinx; she'd considered it on a number of occasions over the years, but this time he really deserved it, she thought.

"They're here!" Septima Vector, the excitable young, brand-new Arithmancy teacher, had been watching at the window for the last ten minutes or so, and was now pointing at the driveway outside, where a long line of floating golden lights marked the swaying, bumping carriages full of students. Minerva could see the thestrals' hot breath issuing steam into the chilly night air. She'd only intended to speak to Granger, tonight, but… well, it couldn't be helped now, and the Time-Turner couldn't wait until tomorrow. Once she got Potter packed off to the hospital wing…

The massive oak doors creaked open and admitted a rush of students, chatting and laughing in a dull roar of noise. Minerva craned her neck, trying to spot the brilliant red hair of a Weasley—that, she knew after two years, was the surest way to find Potter.

"A-ha," she said, her eyes landing on the back of a red head that was taller than the little knot of third years that surrounded it. "Potter! Granger!" she barked.

The students on either side of Ron Weasley turned and spotted her; both Harry and Hermione looked nonplussed. Harry's face was rather pale, and his scar seemed to stand out even more on his forehead, livid against his flushed features. Hermione simply looked curious.

"I want to see you both!" she called, and, after they'd shared a bewildered look with Ron Weasley, all three of them began to pick their way through the stream of students towards her. At least Potter was moving under his own steam, Minerva thought as they arrived before her. She stood at the foot of the marble staircase that led to her office.

When the three had arrived in front of her, she said, "There's no need to look so worried — I just want a word in my office," she told them. She caught Ron's eye and nodded at the crowd. "Move along there, Weasley."

He looked skeptical, but didn't argue, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he left. Minerva turned on her heel and beckoned Granger and Potter on with a wave of her hand. She led them to her office and had them sit down before the dire, which had filled the room with a pleasant warmth. Minerva dropped into her desk chair and studied Harry's features again.

"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."

There came a quick, light knock at the door, which swung open to admit Poppy. Potter looked positively alarmed and mortified.

"I'm fine," Harry began, "I don't need anything—"

"Oh, it's you, is it?" Poppy asked. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?"

"It was a dementor, Poppy," Minerva told her, and Poppy met her eye, making an angry noise. She rounded on Potter; Granger sat back a little in her seat as though she feared being examined as well.

"Setting dementors around a school," Poppy muttered, periodically glancing at Minerva and rolling her eyes. "He won't be the last one who collapses," she announced. "Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate—"

"I'm not delicate!" Potter snapped.

"Of course you're not," Poppy replied as she timed his pulse to her wristwatch.

Minerva decided to cut this exchange short, because Harry was starting to look deeply embarrassed. "What does he need?" she asked Poppy. "Bed rest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"

"I'm fine!" said Potter, and he actually jumped to his feet, looking irritable.

Poppy caught Minerva's eye, and the meaning was plain— _Gryffindor Quidditch players, as usual._ She tried to catch Potter and look into his eyes. "He should have some chocolate, at the very least," she told Minerva.

"I've already had some," said Harry, who was turning red. "Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us." He gestured at Hermione Granger, who nodded, her brown eyes wide.

"Did he, now?" Poppy sounded pleasantly surprised and gave Minerva a smile. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?"

Minerva ignored this. "Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" she asked.

 _"Yes,"_ he replied, sounding exasperated.

Minerva arched an eyebrow, and Potter stood up a little straighter and made an effort not to look so annoyed. "Very well. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger about her course schedule, then we can go down to the feast together."

Potter disappeared through the door with Poppy, and Minerva turned to Hermione.

"My c-course schedule, Professor?" she asked, looking anxious.

"Yes," Minerva sighed, reaching into her top desk drawer for the box. "You'll remember, the last time we spoke, I was not sure how or if we could accommodate your desire to take so many subjects."

Granger looked crestfallen. "Yes… I remember."

Minerva placed the Time-Turner in its box atop the desk. "Do you know what this is, Miss Granger?"

Hermione frowned and sat forward, opening the lid. Her eyes became large as saucers, and she gasped, snatching her hands back. "That's—that's—a _Time-Turner!"_

"Quite right," Minerva said. "You will be using it to get to your classes this term. I trust you know how it works?"

"One turn of the glass for an hour. Never let yourself be seen," Hermione said at once. "I read a book all about them and the laws about them in first year!"

Minerva flicked her wand. "I think the safest place for this is on your person." A fine gold chain appeared in midair and joined the Time-Turner, which rose out of its box and settled around Hermione's neck. "Keep it safe. Do not let anyone know you have it. "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, tucking the necklace under the collar of her robes.

"Come to my office after your first lesson. I will review the usage materials and loan paperwork with you then," Minerva told her. Hermione's smile was enormous, revealing her overlarge front teeth. "Miss Granger, I had to write many letters about your academic prowess and model behavior in order to obtain this device. I hope you will not disappoint my trust in you."

"No, Professor!" she replied, looking suddenly terribly anxious. Minerva nodded.

"Excellent. Let us return to the feast, then."

They stepped out into the corridor, and proceeded downstairs to the Great Hall once more. The Sorting Ceremony had concluded and the staff table was full. Minerva caught Hagrid's eye with a slight smile as she ascended to her seat; his appointment would be announced tonight; he had brought out his hairy brown suit and orange necktie for the occasion.

She settled into her chair on Albus's right, and he leaned towards her.

"The first student sorted was a Ravenclaw. I believe we all owe Filius a Sickle," he informed her.

"Potter's all right," Minerva said. "I imagine you heard from Lupin as well?"

"Of course."

"Well, it's handled. Poppy says he's all right," she told him. "I had a word with him, and he seemed—"

"I did not doubt for a moment your ability to handle the situation swiftly and effectively," Albus said, giving her a smile as he prepared to rise with his goblet in hand. "Thank you for your command of the situation, as usual, my dear."


	5. Resemblance

*peeks around door*

Hellu. This is me apologizing for my disappearing act... and telling you how much I STINKING MISSED ALL OF YOU! LIFE IS HECTIC BUT I LOVE YOU MADLY. Today's the 20th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, so, what better day to bring back Great Deeds?

Love.

* * *

16 September 1993

"I think you might need this more than I do."

Minerva looked up from her stack of essays as Remus Lupin put a mug of tea on the staffroom table before her. He smiled slightly and turned back to the kettle to pour himself another as Minerva pulled off her glasses and gave him a smile, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"How are you, Remus?"

"Just fine," he replied, straightening up with his tea in hand.

"Have a seat," Minerva said, gesturing at the empty chair beside her.

"I don't want—"

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him, and he relented, producing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ as he sat down. "I'm afraid I haven't done very much checking-up on our new members of staff. How have your first two weeks gone? And thank you for this," she added, taking a sip of her tea.

"I can't complain," Remus shrugged. "I like the students, and nearly everyone has been very collegial." He smiled.

" _Nearly_ everyone," Minerva repeated with a snort. "I can guess what that means."

"Well, Sibyll Trelawney was bit more, ah—nosy—than collegial, I'll say that," Remus grinned.

Minerva raised a hand. "Do not talk to me about Sibyll. You know she's told Harry Potter he's going to drop dead by the end of the school year? She does it _every_ single year, she's marked one new third year every year since she got here, and then an otherwise perfectly rational child ends up going all the way through the N.E.W.T. out of sheer terror."

"Sounds like a brilliant retention strategy," said Remus dryly.

"Well, _you_ can speak to her about it then, and while you're there she'll read your runes or what—" Minerva broke off, drawing a breath in through her nose. "I don't like that it was Potter she picked, I'll say that."

"Is that so?"

"You know, I don't remember you being half this sarcastic when I had the power to take house points from you," she informed him agitatedly, and he laughed. Minerva picked up her glasses and cleaned them on her sleeve, looking sideways at him. "So… what do you think of Harry? You've had him for two weeks now."

Remus opened his mouth, and then closed it, apparently trying to collect his thoughts. After a few beats of silence, Minerva nodded.

"I know. It's remarkable, isn't it?" she said softly.

"He's… the best of both of them," Remus replied, shaking his head as he gazed at the tabletop. "He's James, with Lily's heart, and her brains. Not that—James was never stupid, of course, but he wouldn't have applied himself in a class the way Harry does—no matter how much he liked the teacher," he gave Minerva a deferential smile, and she rolled her eyes. "It's… it's quite something."

"It is," Minerva agreed. "Have you had the opportunity to speak to him yet? Alone, I mean? The resemblances are even more striking, but he's got a very distinct personality all on his own."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," Lupin replied, tapping a finger on the rim of his mug. "I haven't, though. To be honest… I'm not sure it would be appropriate."

Minerva raised her eyebrows.

"I mean that, regardless of whether Harry knows the truth about—Black," Remus said, "is there a clean way to explain… who I am and how—why I've not been a part of his life?"

"Oh," Minerva said softly. Truthfully, this thought had not occurred to her. She sat back in her chair, a faint frown creasing her brow.

"After all, perhaps there was no formal expectation, but—after James and Lily died, and Peter, and then—" he shook his head. "Maybe I simply put that responsibility on myself, but I often wondered whether I ought to have—to have stepped up, or intervened—"

She sat up again, abruptly, and laid a hand on Remus's. "Tell Potter who you really are, and who you are to him," she said firmly. "Trust me. I'm not saying hold him after class and give him your life story on the spot, but—I have a feeling that one way or another, the opportunity will present itself. And you can tell him whatever you feel comfortable sharing." She picked up her glasses and perched them on her nose. "For what it's worth, Remus—with only one notable exception, I have never seen Harry demonstrate anything other than delight when he has met someone who knew his parents."

"Excep—oh." Remus made a valiant effort to stop his lips from twitching.

"There's nothing quite like seeing the exact same dislike being born, twenty years apart," she replied. "And speaking of Severus, I heard a rumor about one of your classes—"

"Neville Longbottom has a fertile imagination," said Remus brightly. "I am quite enjoying his contributions to the class thus far."

"A-ha. I'm not so sure he didn't have a bit of help," she smirked.

Remus cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, disappearing behind his _Daily Prophet._


	6. Form

So, really truly, honest to goodness, this is BACK. I am bound and determined! Let's get poor Minerva out of year 3! Your support means worlds to me. I adore you. That's all.

* * *

16 October 1993

Nearly forty years of teaching, and somehow Minerva could never remember that third year was always the age where the students started to become… well, strange. Friendships were tested, attentions started to wander to the realms _beyond_ friendship, and that wasn't even accounting for the patently bizarre behaviors that inevitably cropped up around this age.

For example: on this gray October morning, Lavender Brown (who looked inexplicably puffy-eyed and miserable—Minerva made a note to look into it) sat beside Parvati Patil, and they were whispering conspiratorially, casting nasty glares at the back of Hermione Granger's head. Hermione, for her part, was so determinedly focused on her task—copying down notes on Switching Spells—that she didn't notice them, nor did she notice the dirty looks Ron Weasley threw her periodically.

Meanwhile, seated between Granger and Weasley, Harry Potter was gazing blankly into the middle distance, a quill loose in his grasp, looking utterly stranded in a sea of his own thoughts.

 _Right, then_ , thought Minerva.

She was caught off-guard when the bell rang, and stood as the third years began their mad scramble to pack up.

"One moment, please!" she called. "As you're all in my House, you should hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me _before Halloween._ " She punctuated this with a stern, sweeping look across the classroom. Dean Thomas, who had frozen in the act of swinging his leg over her seat, wobbled on the spot. Minerva arched an eyebrow. "No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget!"

Neville Longbottom, near the front of the room, put up his hand in the all-too-familiar gesture for which Minerva was strangely grateful.

"Please, Professor," he began, "I—I think I've lost—"

"Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom," she told him. "She seemed to think it was safer." Neville blushed, but smiled. Indeed, the form had come back the day after booklists had been sent out in the summer; Minerva could hardly blame Augusta for this and was all too happy to take something off of the boy's mind. It wasn't as though Neville didn't try to remember things, she knew—but it was difficult to do so when his focus was on so many other areas in which he struggled. For some of them, responsibility came with time and practice, and there was no need to punish him for not having enough of those.

She addressed the class once more. "Well, that's all, you may leave." Released, they all resumed their scramble for the door. She began stacking papers at her desk, but shortly became conscious of a presence standing before her. She looked up at Harry over the top of her glasses. Her stomach sank suddenly; she had a shrewd idea of what this would be about.

"Yes, Potter?"

He took a deep breath, looking anxious. "Professor, my aunt and uncle—er—forgot to sign my form."

In spite of herself, Minerva felt her teeth clench. _Forgot, did they?_

She said nothing.

Harry stammered, "So—er—d'you think it would be all right—I mean, will it be okay if I—if I go to Hogsmeade?"

Minerva found herself suddenly wrestling with a burning sense of injustice at the Dursleys and their apparently limitless disregard for their nephew, as well as her overwhelming desire to keep Potter safe at all costs, regardless of what Albus thought—not only from Black, but from the dementors who clearly affected him deeply. To give herself some time, she picked up the essays on her desk and started to alphabetize them.

When she felt she had come up with the best possible response, she spoke. "I'm afraid not, Potter. You heard what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That's the rule."

This sounded unjust and limp, even to her own ears.

Harry's jaw dropped, and Ron Weasley, who was standing a little way behind him, looked furious. "But—Professor, my aunt and uncle—you know, they're Muggles, they don't really understand about—about Hogwarts forms and stuff," said Harry. "If you said I could go—"

"But I don't say so," Minerva straightened up and dropped the papers into her drawer, feeling traitorous as her disparate instincts grappled inside her chest. "The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give permission." She paused and met his eyes, half-wanting to march him straight to Dumbledore to hear the truth, to be told _why_ she had to be so unreasonable about this—Merlin knew he was hardly the first student she'd had without a proper parent or guardian to sign a permission form, after all, and Potter wasn't stupid enough to believe he was. She swallowed. "I'm sorry, Potter, but that's my final word. You had better hurry, or you'll be late for your next lesson."

Ron, still a few rows back, looked indignant, while Hermione, who was lingering at the back of the classroom, looked regretful. Harry, however, was staring up at her in acceptant dismay. "All right. Thanks, Professor," he mumbled, shouldering his schoolbag and starting to trudge away.

Minerva now felt the pull of guilt in her stomach as the second bell rang, but waited until Potter and his friends were gone before she went to open the classroom door for the fifth years.


	7. Halloween

*nervous laugh* NOOOO nobody panic, we're definitely not only one chapter ahead of what I've already written.

Lol we'll probably be okay. ;)

LET'S HAVE A VISITOR, SHALL WE? Full disclosure, this chapter of PoA used to scare me out of my mind when I was a little kid.

* * *

31 October 1993

The Great Hall was only half-full as the Halloween feast wound down. The hovering jack-o-lanterns and fluttering bats were still present, but the golden serving platters had cleared and there were only small clusters of students dotted here and there along the four tables. A steady stream of children was making its way towards the doors to the entrance hall.

"Oh, Remus," Minerva said, as he sat down beside her, a goblet of pumpkin juice in one hand. "How are you? Feeling better?"

"Well enough," he shrugged, offering her a slight smile.

"You've an appetite, apparently," she said.

"Severus's remedies make that possible," he replied graciously. "I wanted to talk with you about Harry, and Hogsmeade."

Minerva held up a hand. "I've told him I'll only allow his aunt or uncle to sign the form."

"And I'm sure that was in the name of his own safety, given everything," said Remus. "However, Harry and I had a little talk today." He gave Minerva a meaningful look.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Did you?"

"Yes," he replied, with the faintest trace of a knowing look. "And I wanted to tell you that you were absolutely right; the similarities to his parents become even more evident—particularly his father, which is why I wanted to speak to you."

"Regarding?"

A strange expression filled Remus's face, and he seemed to take a deep breath to steady himself, as though he was teetering on the edge of something grim—but then there came a sudden explosive chorus of shouting from the entrance hall, and Nearly Headless Nick came soaring into the Great Hall. He made a beeline, passing through the crowd of students (who shuddered and yelped in surprise), straight for Dumbledore, who rose to his feet in anticipation.

"Sir Nicholas?"

"Headmaster, you must come quickly. Something has happened at Gryffindor Tower—the painting—" Nick's head wobbled worryingly, and he straightened his ruff with one finger.

Albus's sharp blue eyes flicked to Minerva, who in turn caught Snape's eye. "Come with us, Remus," she called, already following Severus after the tail end of Dumbledore's violet robes. They sped up to the seventh floor, Albus miles ahead as Minerva, Remus, and Severus navigated groups of Gryffindors lining the corridor, all seemingly waiting for something. Moments later, they emerged onto the corridor that ended with the Fat Lady's portrait and the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was full to brimming with Gryffindor students. For a moment, Minerva wondered if the Fat Lady had gone on another poorly timed visit to one of her friends in the castle—but that wouldn't explain the frisson of fear and anxious whispers that rippled through the crowd.

She could see the back of Albus's head nearer to the front. "There," she said to the other two, pointing.

"Out of the way—"

"Stand aside, Miss Johnson—"

"Let us through, please—"

The Gryffindors parted to allow Minerva, followed by Remus and Severus, to pass, squeezing tight against each other in the overstuffed corridor.

"What's happened?"

"D'you see it—?"

"Must've been a knife—"

Minerva's stomach dropped like a stone, and as she drew level with Dumbledore, she felt a thrill of horror. The Fat Lady's portrait had been viciously attacked with something lethally sharp. The canvas hung in tatters from its golden frame, and the Fat Lady herself was nowhere to be seen.

Albus turned to Minerva. "We need to find her. Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

Before Minerva could even turn around and begin pushing her way through the crowd again, a telltale _whoosh_ heralded the arrival of Peeves.

"You'll be lucky!" the poltergeist cackled, with an evil grin.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Albus asked calmly; Minerva glared up at the poltergeist, but his unhelpfulness, it seemed, did not extend to Dumbledore.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said, with another evil grin. _"Poor_ thing."

Minerva felt a prickle of fear—which, of course, was exactly what Peeves liked about his current position—but what was more, she felt Dumbledore stiffening beside her, as though he anticipated something truly terrible.

"Did she say who did it?" he asked softly.

"Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves cheerfully. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over in midair and pulled a face. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

The uproar was instantaneous and deafening; the Gryffindors began to scream as Minerva shouted at Snape and Lupin to find Filch, rouse the rest of the staff, and bring all of the students to the Great Hall. They disappeared at once into the crowd as Dumbledore raised his wand and fired off golden sparks towards the ceiling.

"Your attention, please," he boomed, his voice echoing all the way down the corridor. "You are in no immediate danger. Please turn around and return to the Great Hall, where you will remain until the castle has been thoroughly searched. Prefects, you will assist Professor McGonagall by confirming that all the members of each year are present and accounted for in the Great Hall. You will then report to the Head Boy and Girl there."

"All right, move along!" Percy Weasley called, bustling forward, looking flushed and anxious but very much in command of the situation. "You heard Professor Dumbledore, to the Great Hall!"

Still chattering wildly, the Gryffindors were shepherded away. As they left, Minerva continued to hunt through the crowd for Potter with a jolting heart; she'd only just seen him leave the Great Hall, so surely… relief flooded her when she laid eyes on his messy black hair. Yes, there he was, walking between Granger and Weasley, per usual. Their heads were bowed together and they, like the rest of the Gryffindors, were whispering furiously.

"Black will likely not be in the castle any longer," Dumbledore told Minerva quietly, once she'd watched Harry—and the other Gryffindors—filter away towards the staircases. "Nonetheless, we must search the entire building." He gestured for her to follow as he began walking towards the Great Hall. "I would like the search to be done in groups of three. The prefects who are of age and the Head Boy and Girl may help. The underage prefects should remain in the Great Hall to supervise the younger students. I will pay them a visit shortly to explain the plan. No dormitory is to be reopened until tomorrow."

Minerva nodded as they descended the stairs to the Great Hall. "Albus—all of the secret passages—I don't think we've ever had a student who knew the school as well as Sirius Black."

Albus made an odd movement with his head, like a half-nod, but said, "Argus will check the passages again, and determine if they have been recently used. We must also find another guard for Gryffindor Tower, temporarily, I hope," he said, with a heavy sigh. "Can I rely on you to handle that?"

"Of course," she replied. They had reached the final staircase to the Great Hall; students were scampering inside and the faculty were gathered outside the doors, looking up at them where they stood. Albus stopped walking and faced her, his expression grave and set.

"There is no immediate danger," he repeated, and for a moment, Minerva had an idea that he was assuring himself. "But we will exercise all necessary caution."

"And what about the Ministry?" Minerva asked in a low voice. "Cornelius would—well, you know what he would want."

"Not while I am headmaster," he replied firmly. "We'll get the students settled, begin the search, and then I will get a message to Cornelius and Rufus Scrimgeour. I believe Kingsley Shacklebolt is posted in Hogsmeade tonight. He may be the best messenger."

"They're waiting," Minerva said, tipping her head towards the teachers gathered at the bottom of the stairs, who were all looking tense. Albus nodded, and they descended the steps together.


	8. Precautions

Sorry kids! I'm traveling and my timezones are all a-jumbled. :) Let's go let's go let's go!

* * *

3 November 1993

"But it's the seventh password since Monday, Professor!"

"I understand your frustration, Miss Spinnet, but there's very little I can do here. Sir Cadogan seems to take no direction whatsoever, so for the time being, until we can restore the Fat Lady and convince her to return to duty, I recommend you stick close to your friends if you're unsure of the password."

It was early afternoon in the Transfiguration classroom and the fifth years had just been released from their lesson. However, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Fred and George Weasley (who were apparently more amused than annoyed) had hung back after the bell to discuss Sir Cadogan.

The tiny knight had been the only portrait that, after hours of searching in which the rumors of what happened to the Fat Lady circulated through the entire castle, Minerva had been able to convince to take on the job. It had been nearly four in the morning after the Gryffindor Tower attack when she'd come upon Sir Cadogan, and Minerva, too exhausted and frustrated with the feigned sleep, feigned deafness, and sudden disappearances of the other portraits she'd spoken to, had just been glad to have one of them agree to the job.

It was evident after the first day that the Fat Lady would have to be solicitously cared for as swiftly as possible.

"He's barking mad," said Angelina. "Really, Professor. Last night all four of us were late to Quidditch practice because we couldn't get into the bloody tower, he'd changed the password between lunch and dinner!"

Minerva sighed. She had a headache growing in her temples that she felt she ought to name after these four—or better, perhaps, after the belligerent little knight. "I will try, again, to speak to Sir Cadogan. That is all I can promise you. Your concerns are noted and understood."

The Weasley twins both started laughing at this, and Alicia gave them a dirty look. "If you're not helping, you're welcome to shove off."

"Al, you're taking it way too seriously," George sniggered.

"Sure, who doesn't want a duel on the way to breakfast?" Fred agreed. "Keeps you on your toes!"

"If there's nothing else," Minerva said, cutting smoothly across the retort Angelina had been preparing to hurl. She didn't wait for a response. "Good. On your way, then."

Fred and George still giggling, Alicia and Angelina looking disgruntled, they trooped out of the classroom together. Minerva raised her wand and began putting things in order for the third years, her next lesson after this free period. Perhaps she could use the time to close her eyes for a moment in her study. To her surprise, however, the classroom door creaked open as she erased the chalkboard.

"Professor? You wanted to see me? I went to your office, but…"

Minerva turned and saw another Weasley—Percy, this time—poking his bespectacled face round the door. The memory of Albus's requests suddenly crashed into her, and she kicked herself for forgetting that she had meant to go directly to her office after the fifth years' lesson. "Yes, come in," she said, waving him in. "I'm afraid I was delayed here. Shut the door, if you please, Weasley."

He did, and bustled forward in a hurry, his Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest. Minerva sat down in her desk chair and folded her hands on the table. She fixed Weasley with a sharp, scrutinizing stare. "I understand you were a great help to Professor Dumbledore and the other members of staff in the Great Hall on Saturday night. It makes me glad to know that you're living up to that responsibility." She gestured to the badge on his chest.

"Thank you, ma'am," Percy said, looking somewhat surprised. He puffed up slightly. "I was just trying to do my best in a crisis."

"Well, it's not gone unnoticed," Minerva agreed, nodding. "However, I wanted to make a request of you. I have no doubt that you have already employed discretion in this matter, but I understand that you may have overheard some part of what _ought_ to have been a private conversation between Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore."

Percy whitened a bit beneath his freckles, his eyes growing wide. "I—I—don't think—"

"As I say," Minerva pressed on, her tone even and calm, "I do not make mistakes when I recommend prefects—or Head Boys. I am sure that whatever you may have heard, you have kept to yourself. I wanted only to mention that it would be a great personal favor to both myself and Professor Dumbledore if you continued to do so."

"Of course," Percy said at once, nodding frantically. Minerva felt a surge of irritation, not with Percy, but with Severus; she hated the feeling that she was cleaning up after his error in judgment—though she was perfectly glad to have this conversation if it prevented him from taking house points from Gryffindor as a threat.

"Very good," she said, with a sharp nod. "That's all, then, Mr. Weasley. Thank you."

Percy rose and puffed out his chest again, and then executed a strange sort of half-bow to her, leaving as the bell rang. Minerva pressed her fingers to her temples and then, realizing the time, jumped to her feet and hurried down to her office.

She beat Potter's arrival by barely a minute, and sat down as she called, "Come in."

Harry pushed the door open, his eyebrows raised warily as though he fully expected to be in trouble for something. Minerva waved a hand, feeling her heart sinking as she did. "Yes, come in, Potter, come in…"

Just before the door closed, she caught a glimpse of Pomona, a rare sight inside the castle at midday. No doubt, she'd been acting on the fear the entire staff had been feeling since Albus's staff meeting early in the week, in which he'd explained to everyone precisely why Sirius Black had a stake in breaking into Gryffindor Tower. Pomona was hardly the first, and Minerva was sure she would not be the last, professor to spend a little extra time with Potter as an unofficial escort between classes.

For a moment, Minerva watched Harry as he sat down in front of her, looking wary, but largely untroubled. She sighed, feeling a guilty pang at being the one to shatter that calm, a pang that was mixed with a few other choice emotions that sat a bit closer to her scarlet-and-gold core—but common sense was common sense…

"Professor?" Harry asked, brushing one hand through his messy black hair; this was a nervous habit of his that Minerva had noticed—whenever he felt put on the spot, Harry attempted fruitlessly to smooth down his wild hair.

She sat forward, folding her hands on her desk. "There's no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter," she began, her voice grave, even as she tried to speak gently. "I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black—"

To Minerva's great shock, Harry's whole body relaxed, and he practically rolled his eyes. "I know he's after me," he half-sighed. "I heard Ron's dad telling his mum. Mr. Weasley works for the Ministry of Magic."

Minerva gaped idiotically for a moment, feeling thoroughly wrong-footed. She instinctively looked Potter up and down, as if looking for physical evidence of this horrible and weighty truth. How could the boy who had been quite his usual self all year also be _aware_ that a notorious mass-murderer was after him?

Then, it occurred to her; he knew Black was after him—she supposed that at a certain point after all the trouble he'd gotten into after two years at Hogwarts, he wasn't terribly surprised that a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had it out for him—but he didn't know the rest of it. The Weasleys didn't know anything about the Potters, or their friends… Harry would not have heard that piece of the story.

Well, perhaps that was for the best. _She_ certainly had no intention of revealing it to him, and in any case, it wasn't the purpose of this conversation. Recovering her powers of speech, she said, "I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it's very exposed, Potter—"

"We've got our first match on Saturday!" Harry interrupted, horrified. "I've got to train, Professor!"

Minerva pressed her lips together, considering. She had taken up this idea only half-heartedly, at best. She didn't like the idea of another year without the Quidditch Cup any more than Potter did. They watched each other; for a moment they were two Gryffindor Quidditch players.

She narrowed her eyes and rose to look out the window at the Quidditch pitch. "Hmm… well, goodness knows, I'd like to see us win the Cup at last… but all the same, Potter, I'd be happier if a teacher were present."

She looked back at Harry, who looked uncertain as to what he was being told. With a silent prayer that Rolanda would forgive her, Minerva added, "I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."


	9. Dementor

I forgot to say I'm switching to Friday night updates! :) Sorry for the delay, my loves.

* * *

6 November 1993

It was a miserable day for a Quidditch match; Minerva had thought seriously about calling it off when she'd been woken by the rumble of thunder at dawn that morning, but couldn't bring herself to do it. There was no real reason, after all, apart from unhappy spectators—lightning wouldn't penetrate the protective charms of the Quidditch pitch, and cancelling a match because of rain on a day when her own house was meant to be playing…

Well, she was not going to allow Severus the chance to gloat after the telling-off she'd given him for changing the season lineup because of Draco Malfoy's 'injury,' for which the boy was still managing to blame Hagrid.

Sitting now in the stands, she held up a hand to the brim of her hat in a vain attempt to increase her visibility and squinted through the pounding rain at the sodden crimson and yellow blurs that soared up and down the pitch. How they could see a foot in front of their faces when she could barely keep her glasses clear was a mystery.

A great cheer rose from the soaking yellow mass across the stands, and Pomona, seated on Minerva's left, began to applaud and cheer.

"Do you even know what happened?" Minerva shouted over the wind, half laughing.

Pomona shook her head and pointed at the Hufflepuffs. "But they're happy!"

"Hufflepuff lead, twenty-ten," Lee Jordan bellowed into the microphone he held, a row in front of Minerva. "Come _on_ , Gryffindor!" he added, likely because he correctly assumed that no one could actually hear him. She let this show of bias slide; it wasn't an insurmountable lead, after all.

Then, however, the Gryffindor Chasers seemed to catch their wind; despite a few more goals from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor suddenly leapt ahead by fifty points, and a whistle blew somewhere down on the field, signaling a time-out. The whistle was almost immediately drowned out by an enormous clap of thunder in the darkening sky, swiftly followed by a fork of lightning.

"Potter or Diggory had better catch the Snitch soon," Pomona called to Minerva, who nodded.

"I almost don't care which one does it, as long as this is over!"

Pomona laughed. "I believe that!"

Suddenly, a red streak shot past the stands, showering them all with even more rain. Play had resumed, and it was Potter who had flown past. Minerva tracked him, clinging to Pomona's wrist as she rose halfway out of her seat. Another rumble of thunder, and lightning dangerously close to the pitch. Minerva looked up just as Pomona began to shout.

"Go, Diggory! Go!"

Potter, however, had seen Diggory chasing the Snitch—how they could see it, Minerva would never know—and was in hot pursuit. Both she and Pomona rose, clinging to each other as a wave of cold wind flooded over the stands, drowning out the sound.

But… that didn't make sense… Minerva felt a nauseous lurch in her stomach, and for a moment, her vision blurred and she was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of loss, despair… or were they memories? She heard students screaming—or was that—no...

Why could she hear Edgar Bones' children screaming?

"Minerva!" Someone was shaking her by the shoulders, and she came to, Pomona directly in front of her—then she saw the dementors, at least a hundred, gathering on the field below.

She leapt to her feet and almost collided with a purple-robed figure—

"Albus!"

"Get to Harry!" he barked, his expression full of fury as he drew his wand. They reached the grass at the same moment. Albus's phoenix Patronus burst forth from his wand, headed directly for the dementors, as Minerva looked upward.

Potter was sliding sideways off of his broomstick, fifty feet overhead. Without a moment's hesitation, she drew her wand and pointed it at the ground beneath him.

" _Molliare!"_

It was not a second too soon; Potter's unconscious form came plummeting down, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Albus raise his wand to slow him so that he hit the softened mud with barely a thud.

The dementors were swirling away, pecked and circled by the phoenix Patronus. Fueled by adrenaline that was competing hard with the nauseous, cold feeling in her ribs, Minerva bolted for the spot where Potter lay, and where the Gryffindor team was landing in great splashes of mud and grass.

Angelina Johnson ran straight to where Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins were landing next to Potter. "Harry! _Harry!"_

"Is he all right?!"

"I can't look—" Alicia Spinnet shut her eyes, gripping Katie Bell's arm.

"Out of my way," Minerva snapped. She performed a quick assessment as Albus approached at top speed. Potter was breathing, though he certainly looked—

A deafening roar rose from the stands—from the canary-yellow mass of Hufflepuff supporters. Minerva rose as Ron Weasley and Hermione came splashing onto the field.

"I want them seen to the boundaries of the grounds, Minerva," Albus was shouting, as he conjured a stretcher and levitated Potter onto it. "And send a letter to Cornelius Fudge _at once!"_

It was bedlam—Albus was in a rage like none she had ever seen; Weasley, Granger, and the Gryffindor team were all watching Harry in horror; their attention, however, was torn because Cedric Diggory had indeed caught the Snitch and won the match for Hufflepuff. Diggory, however, had landed and was now having an agitated talk with Madam Hooch—it sounded as though he wanted to replay the match.

"All right!" Minerva bellowed, and everyone in a ten-foot radius turned and looked at her, in spite of the roaring wind and thunder. Albus was already removing Harry on the stretcher, marching purposefully for the castle. "Gryffindor team, to the showers! Weasley, Granger, to Gryffindor Tower—"

"But Harry—"

"Will be perfectly fine if you do as I say!" she told Weasley. She rounded on Cedric Diggory and Rolanda. "Diggory, the match—goes to Hufflepuff. Now, Madam Hooch, let's get everyone inside before we're electrocuted or worse!"

"Right!" Rolanda said. "Players to the showers, everyone else inside!" She mounted her broomstick and pointed her wand at her throat. Her voice magnified over the crowd, which immediately began to filter from the stadium.

Minerva turned and headed for the gates at top speed. She wouldn't be writing any letter that Cornelius Fudge could ignore.

* * *

Minerva slammed her study door shut and flung her sodden cloak off her shoulders. It soared meekly to hang on the coatrack by the blazing fire, and she began siphoning water from her robes with her wand, muttering angrily to herself. When a hesitant knock came at the door, she barked, "Come in! For the love of—what is it?!"

The door opened to reveal Albus, followed by an equally soaked Hagrid, who looked cautiously concerned.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Minerva said, turning her back to the fire to warm up. She tried to collect herself. "Yes?"

"Harry is making a full recovery under Poppy's care," Albus said. He still looked grim, but his anger seemed to have cooled. "I thought you might like to know."

Minerva nodded. "Good. I went down to the village. Kingsley Shacklebolt has submitted an order to remove half the dementors around the school," she said. "I don't know that the recommendation will be taken seriously, but…" she sighed.

"We can' let 'em keep playin' Quidditch, can we?" Hagrid asked. "If dementors are gonna come swoopin' about every time we do?"

Minerva looked at him. "I've spoken to Kingsley. He says that if nothing else, he would send a few of his trainees to patrol the grounds on match days." She caught Albus's eye, and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Hagrid," he said, "I respect your feelings on dementors, but if that were the case, I would ask you to work with the trainee Aurors to establish the appropriate boundaries."

"O'course," Hagrid said, frowning. Minerva felt a rush of gratitude at his affection for the students. "Jes' say the word. But if it's all righ' now, I'd like ter go an' see Harry. I feel bad abou' his broomstick."

"What happened to the broomstick?" Minerva asked, as Hagrid squeezed himself out of her office.

"Oh—er, Filius an' me had ter get the bits away from the Whompin' Willow," Hagrid said guiltily. "Blew away when Harry fell off."

Minerva shut her eyes, her stomach sinking. Talk about adding insult to injury.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Albus said, and Hagrid waved to them both before shutting the door after himself.

Minerva turned to face the fire, rubbing her damp sleeves and shivering. She looked at Albus. "What?" she asked, a little shortly.

"I hate to see a Gryffindor Quidditch loss quite as much as you do, but—"

"Don't joke," Minerva snapped. "How can you possibly make a joke? I've never seen you that angry—"

" _I_ had never imagined you would take command of your first up-close experience with dementors so swiftly," Albus said. He was giving her the x-ray look. She wrapped her arms around herself. "How are you feeling?"

"Irritable. For many reasons," she replied. Then her throat seemed to tighten. It was true—even in all her years working for the Order, and married to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, she had never been so close to a dementor. Even the wizards who valued them as tools—for good or evil—had the good sense to keep them at a distance. "They are… horrible. If I…" she shook her head. "I can't imagine what they must do to Potter."

Albus shook his head. "Harry will be just fine. To that end, I have some ideas to discuss with Remus, when he is well."

Minerva nodded. She wondered how Remus was—in all the commotion, she'd quite forgotten he was expecting a full moon that night. "Severus has offered to cover his lessons."

At this, Albus's expression lightened and his brows lifted. He was practically chuckling. "Offered?"

"Do not make that face," Minerva warned him. "And whatever these grand ideas are, they aren't a long-term solution. You know that."

Albus sat down in one of the chairs before the fire, turning the other to face his. "I do."

"They've got to catch Black soon. They have to…" Minerva sat down as well, her tone heavy. "Has it occurred to you that the longer he's out there, the more likely it is Potter will hear too much information about him?"

"Who's to say what _too much information_ is?" Albus mused, his eyes on the flames. "I'm not sure I know the answer."

Minerva stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Albus looked at her. "We are teachers, Minerva. Is there every really any such thing as too much information?"

"Are you joking again?" she asked tiredly. "Albus…"

He held up both hands. "I am not, but… I won't press you. I can tell you aren't in the mood." He flicked his wand, and a large wrapped bar of Honeydukes chocolate appeared in her lap. "It always helps to have this on hand when a dementor has been around. I have asked the house elves to create an all-chocolate dessert menu for this evening." Albus went to the door.

A million irritated responses—to stop being so bizarrely enigmatic, to not patronize her—rushed around in her head, and she sat forward. Albus paused, and the urge to snap disappeared.

"Thank you," she grumbled, and sat back again.

He didn't respond, but it was with a profound sense of relief that Minerva broke off a piece of the chocolate bar.


	10. Drinks

18 December 1993

It seemed like a miracle that they'd all made it to the end of the term in one piece, Minerva reflected as she wrapped a forest-green muffler about her neck. She had had the idea to extend an invitation to the staff to have a drink in Hogsmeade on the first Saturday of the holiday, between the end of classes and the students' departure. However, with the snowfall that was rapidly approaching blizzard conditions, plans had been somewhat stymied. A number of teachers had left last night before the snow began to join their families. Remus, who was a week away from the next full moon and not feeling well, and Pomona, who had a head cold, had bowed out at the last moment. Albus had given a somewhat distracted promise to join them, but also had a meeting with Cornelius Fudge to—Minerva guessed—be plumbed for advice on what to do to keep alive the rapidly staling hunt for Sirius Black.

The only remaining adults in the castle were Argus, Severus, Sybill, Filius, and Hagrid, and Minerva was struggling to come up with a more undesirable mix of drinking companions (with the exceptions of Filius and Hagrid). On the other hand, neither Severus nor Sybill Trelawney had responded to her invitation, and Argus had been so fanatical about the secret passages since Halloween that Minerva was quite sure he wasn't giving up the patrol for anything, least of all the Christmas holidays.

So it was that Minerva stood in the entrance hall with a snow-dusted Hagrid, awaiting the third member of their group.

"Have you heard from the Ministry yet?" she asked.

"Abou' Buckbeak? Nah," he waved a hand, trying to look airy and nonchalant. "'Spect I won' hear from 'em 'til after Christmas. I dealt with worse than those ol' gargoyles, though," he added, with a smile that didn't quite have the effect he might have hoped.

Minerva felt a twinge of sympathy. "I'm sure it'll be all right."

"'Course it will," Hagrid said gruffly. He cleared his throat. "Y'know what? I was down in Hogsmeade, 'n y'know who Kingsley's got as a trainee now, is Nym—"

"Well," Filius squeaked as he appeared at the top of the stairs, "shall we get going? We're meeting the Minister."

Minerva stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Albus is running late," he replied, clearly forcing his winning smile. It was no secret that Cornelius Fudge was not Minerva's idea of a drinking partner, either. "He's asked us to meet Cornelius in the village."

"Running late," Minerva repeated flatly. She sighed, feeling nettled. "All right, then, let's go. _One_ drink. We aren't entertaining him all afternoon."

"Tha's the spirit!" Hagrid said jovially, tugging open the enormous doors.

Given that the snow was practically blowing them back up the hill to the castle, they made excellent time to the Three Broomsticks where—sure enough—Cornelius Fudge awaited them.

"Hello!" he called when they were still halfway up the street, his lime-green bowler hat the only recognizable thing about him at this distance. "Fancy meeting all of you here."

"Would you care to join us for a drink, Minister?" Minerva asked, hoping the wind drowned out a bit of the irritation in her voice. "I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore has been delayed, and the castle's nearly empty."

Fudge nodded. "That sounds lovely, I'd planned to do that myself!"

Hagrid was holding the door of the pub open, and the scent of cinnamon and cloves and everything that reminded Minerva of Christmas in her father's house came rushing out in a warm cloud. She relaxed, in spite of herself and the company. They all went in, shaking snow from cloaks and boots as they went.

"There's a table," Filius said, pointing. "Merlin's beard, they're full today."

"I'll ge' the drinks," Hagrid offered. He took everyone's order and sidled up to the bar with ease, cutting a path cleanly through the laughing students and villagers.

Minerva sat down between Fudge and Filius, draping her damp cloak over the back of her chair as the others sat down. In moments, Rosmerta had appeared, bearing a tray.

"A small gillywater—"

"Mine," said Minerva, though Rosmerta had already been reaching for her; how many times had she and Finn come in here at this time of year…?

No, best not to think of that in present company. Rosmerta had finished passing out the drinks.

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge as he accepted his drink. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us."

Rosmerta looked genuinely surprised. "Well, thank you very much, Minister."

She disappeared behind the bar for a moment and emerged with a glass of elf-made wine, sitting down in a chair Filius managed to find for her. She rested her chin in her hand, brushing back her curls. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?"

Fudge did a rather dramatic show of checking around them for eavesdroppers; as far as Minerva could see, their table was obscured by a large Christmas tree, and no one could see them. Fudge dropped his voice. "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

"I did hear a rumor," said Rosmerta, with half a glance at Hagrid, who blushed.

"Did you tell the _whole_ pub, Hagrid?" Minerva asked, and he looked even more sheepish.

Rosmerta wasn't listening. "Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?"

"I'm sure of it," said Fudge, matching her whisper.

"You know that the dementors have searched my pub twice?" Rosmerta asked, arching one penciled eyebrow. "Scared all my customers away. It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, m'dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge, his forehead creasing. "Necessary precaution. Unfortunate, but there you are. I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore—he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

His tone made Minerva snap, "I should think not. How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

"Hear, hear!" Filius agreed, lifting his drink.

Cornelius took a sip of his rum and looked away. "All the same, they are here to protect you all from something much worse. We all know what Black's capable of…"

This pronouncement hung in the air so ominously, even Minerva couldn't find fault with Fudge for saying it. Rosmerta had a thoughtful, distant gleam in her eye, half leaned back in her chair.

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," she said, shaking her curly head. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought…" she caught Minerva's eye, but Minerva looked down into her glass. This had never been an easy topic, and she was not in the mood for gossip now. Rosmerta, however, went on. "I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge, jumping in as though he'd been awaiting a cue. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

Minerva's stomach sank. This time, she looked around the pub. Before she could cut off the topic, Rosmerta had sat forward. "The worst?" she asked, sounding fascinated. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge somberly.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

This time, Fudge sat forward, the hand holding his glass raised, as though he were going to bellow the story to the whole bar. Minerva interrupted, keeping her voice low. "You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta. Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," Rosmerta laughed. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Minerva made a quieting gesture with her hand. "Precisely. Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers—"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid, downing a gulp of mead. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" said Filius, shaking his head. "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

Minerva frowned. Had Fudge spent his _entire_ career ferreting information on other, better wizards than himself? How on earth could he have known that much detail?

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Rosmerta.

"Worse even than that, m'dear." With great drama, he went on. "Not many people are aware that the Potters _knew_ You-Know-Who was after them."

Minerva was only half-listening, now. In her mind's eye, as she gazed into the greenish liquid in her glass, she was traveling back years and years. She remembered the last night she'd seen the Potters alive in something other than a photograph, barely three weeks before Harry was born. A lump rose in her throat. She wished Remus had decided to come with them; this topic would never have come up.

Filius, meanwhile, was explaining the finer points of the Fidelius Charm.

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Rosmerta asked, her eyes widening with horror.

"Naturally," Minerva cut in, her tone hollow and heavy in her ears. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried." She frowned. "I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" gasped Rosmerta.

Minerva shook her head slowly, frowning as though she could see the answer in the Christmas tree beside their table. For the second time in two months, she was back at the night the Bones family had died. Her right fingertips reached absently to touch her tingling left wrist, the one that had broken when the back of the house had been blown apart, and she'd landed at _his_ feet…

She shook herself. "He was sure that _somebody_ close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," Fudge sighed. "And then…"

Minerva pulled her hands into her lap. What followed was all Fudge's—and the Ministry's—speculation, and it was this that turned her stomach the most. This was every thought, memory, and feeling she'd been avoiding since Black's escape in July.

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid snarled suddenly, and half the bar went quiet, heads turning in their direction.

"Shh!" Minerva warned him, but Hagrid just shook his enormous head.

"I met him! I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed!"

Minerva sat up and widened her eyes, trying to cue Hagrid to stop talking. It didn't seem like a good idea, for any reason, to admit to being immediately available to Dumbledore when it came to that particular night; Fudge may have known the broader strokes of the Order of the Phoenix, but he did not need any details. Hagrid, however, ignored her.

"Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead, an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" Minerva said, as their entire table jumped. "Keep your voice down!"

She looked around them once again, feeling anxious. She had no desire to embarrass Hagrid, but this was getting out of hand and his voice was only getting louder as he became more upset, and he was in the midst of a sizable tirade.

"—Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him. But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh?" Hagrid demanded at the end of his rant. "I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore…"

Rosmerta shook her head, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," Cornelius sighed. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew."

Minerva's heart sank and she shook her head, taking a sip of her drink.

"Pettigrew… that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" Rosmerta asked.

"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," Minerva said, tapping her glass with a finger. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I—how I regret that now…" her voice caught unexpectedly, and to her great surprise, she sniffled.

"There, now, Minerva," said Cornelius, laying a hand on her arm, "Pettigrew died a hero's death…"

 _He shouldn't have died at all. None of them…_ Minerva drew her handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. "Stupid boy… foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling… should have left it to the Ministry."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands—I'd've ripped him limb—from—limb," Hagrid rumbled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," Fudge snapped. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people…"

Minerva didn't care to listen to his description, but there was little she could do to prevent the words from entering her brain. She stared determinedly at the Christmas tree that hid them from the rest of the bar.

When Fudge finished his story, Rosmerta sniffled and sat back with a sigh. "Is it true he's mad, Minister?" she asked.

At this, Minerva did look interestedly at Fudge. Editorializing aside, she was curious to know what he—whose job entailed regular visits to Azkaban and whose former supervisor, Barty Crouch, had ordered Black to be imprisoned without trial—had made of the _other_ Sirius Black, the one whom Minerva had apparently never known.

Uncharacteristically, Cornelius seemed to take a great deal of time choosing his response. "I wish I could say that he was. I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while," he said slowly. "The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man—cruel… pointless."

Beside Minerva, Filius blew his nose.

Fudge went on slowly. "Yet, I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them."

Hagrid seemed to shrink, and Minerva felt a chill that the gillywater she sipped could not quite reach.

"But I was shocked at how normal Black seemed." Fudge shook his head. "He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored—asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him—and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his—er—eventual plan. But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing, but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again—" said Fudge. He suddenly looked Minerva's way, as though desperate for her intervention.

She set her glass down sharply with a clink and reached for her cloak, only too happy to oblige. "You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle."

There was a rumble of agreement, and they all rose. Rosmerta returned to the bar, and Minerva and the others drew on their cloaks and mufflers and proceeded to the door. She paused for a moment as she held it for Filius, thinking for a split second that she'd seen a flash of red hair near the Christmas tree at their table—but there was no one there.


	11. Firebolt

We all have those weeks, right? ;) It's been a busy start to the year but we're doing good now! Yay!

* * *

24 December 1993

"Hello?"

"Yes? Oh—Minerva, come in." Remus half-flung himself across his desk in an effort to either instantly organize or hide the disheveled piles of parchment. Then he recovered himself and began to neaten a stack with a faintly embarrassed grin on his face.

"It's all right, we've all had weeks like that," she said with a chuckle. "I wanted to ask if you were joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow evening."

Remus looked surprised. "Oh—I—well, I'd like to, but… dinner is cutting it a bit close for me. Tomorrow's the night, I'm afraid."

Minerva nodded, wincing in spite of herself.

Remus smiled self-deprecatingly. "It's all right. The potion really does help. It'll be a quiet evening for me."

"It'll be a small party for us," Minerva told him. "We've only got six students in the castle. Albus asked the house-elves to set just one table."

"I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione," said Remus, sitting back in his chair. "Quite inseparable, aren't they?"

"You've no idea," Minerva said with a chuckle. "The three of them, plus Adrian Pucey, Derek Digby, and Demelza Robins."

Remus laughed. "That's quite a collection."

"Decidedly," Minerva agreed. "Well, I'm sorry we won't be seeing you."

He smiled. "As am I. Actually," he said slowly, "I had something I wanted to ask you about."

Minerva tilted her head curiously. "What was that?"

"That Quidditch match in November… it's the second time Harry's fallen apart, almost literally, at the approach of a dementor," he said. She stared at him and nodded once. "This is untenable, as I know you and Dumbledore are aware. But I've—being affiliated with Dark creatures, however, you can imagine… I know these creatures better than anyone on staff—except Dumbledore, probably—and I know Harry is young, but he's bright, and I wouldn't be a teacher if I didn't—well—"

"Out with it," Minerva said, but her tone was gentle, her gaze even. Remus met her eye at last.

"I want permission to teach Harry the Patronus Charm. He's approached me and asked for a lesson in defending himself—over a month ago, actually. He doesn't want to suffer from this anymore. Since—Black hasn't been caught yet, and the dementors will not be gone until he is, I've been thinking about it, and next term would be the ideal time for him to start learning."

Minerva raised her eyebrows.

"I know it's advanced, that he wouldn't ordinarily learn it until his N.E.W.T. year, but—" Remus pushed his hands through his hair, suddenly frustrated. "He's experiencing something terrible, nothing like what—what the others or you or I feel or see—and he's bright, and I think he could learn at least— _something_ that will help him with this— _I_ have to help him with this."

"I'm not surprised you feel that way," Minerva said, feeling her mouth twist slightly in a smile. Remus looked at her. She lifted her hands. "Remus, there is no rule against a student learning magic that's advanced, though we hope they strive for at least a modicum of safety when they do. The mere fact that he's approached you rather than attempting to learn it himself…" she shook her head. "When Potter puts his mind to something, it's fairly impossible to stop him from doing it, regardless of any boundaries he might be crossing. Sound familiar?"

A bit of color filled Remus's pale cheeks.

"You don't need my permission," Minerva continued. "But you have it. I think it's a very good idea."

Remus smiled and nodded. "Thank you. I'll make sure to keep you and Dumbledore—"

Minerva waved him off and smiled, heading for the door. "Feel better. We'll see you in a few days."

* * *

In spite of everything, Christmas dinner the next day turned out to be one of the nicest Minerva could remember having in the castle. This was quite a pleasant group to have; even Severus had deigned to show up in something that could be mistaken for a pleasant—if not cheerful—mood. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were among the last to arrive, just as Albus sat down between Severus and Derek Digby. Albus managed to get Severus to pull on the other end of a Christmas cracker, which produced a deafening bang and a hat that resembled—a bit too closely for coincidence—Augusta Longbottom's best hat. The table laughed as Albus accepted it graciously from a sour-faced Severus and donned it at once.

"Dig in!" he announced enthusiastically.

Minerva didn't need telling twice—she and Pomona had started their Christmas celebration a bit early, and she was now a half-bottle of mulled mead into her holiday. She was between Severus and Pomona at the table. On Pomona's other side sat little Demelza Robins, who looked quite stunned to be sitting among the staff—but grinned when Pomona offered her the other end of a cracker.

"Professor?"

Minerva looked around and saw Hermione Granger standing beside her chair. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

She bit her lip anxiously. "I wonder if I might have a word—after dinner? In private?"

Minerva smiled and patted Hermione's arm, feeling the cheerful, relaxing effects of her aperitif. No doubt the girl was anxious about her marks at the midterm—well, that was all right, wasn't it? "Certainly. Come to my office, we'll have a chat."

Hermione threw a furtive look around and then thanked her, hurrying away to sit down on Harry's other side.

Then, without any warning at all, the Great Hall doors swung open, and in fluttered Sybill Trelawney, resplendent in robes and jewels of glittering green. Minerva groaned, and Pomona elbowed her.

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Albus. He rose and opened his arms, his vulture-topped hat wobbling.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Sybill, her eyes enormous and unblinking as she affected her most ridiculous voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…"

"No audience in her tower," Minerva muttered to Pomona, who snorted into her goblet.

"Certainly, certainly," said Albus, looking slyly at Minerva and Severus. "Let me draw you up a chair—"

Before Minerva could do anything, a chair popped into being directly between her and Severus. They exchanged a brief look of horror—

But Sybill suddenly gave a strangled gasp. "I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

Derek Digby and Demelza Robins looked at each other, panic-stricken. Pomona leaned over and murmured something reassuring to them. Minerva, however, was not in the mood for this performance.

"We'll risk it, Sybill," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

There was a snort from somewhere in the vicinity of Ron Weasley, but Minerva did not look at him. Sybill came close to the chair and stood, apparently bracing herself for the final cataclysm, before finally lowering herself into it. Minerva drummed her fingers on the table and had to remind herself that Vanishing the chair would be childish and rude.

When Sybill had made it all the way down, Minerva took a serving spoon and inspected the contents of a dish in front of her. "Tripe, Sybill?" she asked politely.

Sybill opened her eyes, but said nothing. She looked around the table with great curiosity. "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

Minerva opened her mouth in disbelief, about to retort.

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, cutting her off neatly. The rest of the table began to fill their plates. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sybill?" Minerva frowned at her. Sybill was many things, but stupid was not one of them. Her attention-seeking, however, was rapidly approaching Minerva's limit.

Sybill glared back at her. "Certainly I knew, Minerva. But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Minerva; this earned her a stomped foot from Pomona.

Suddenly, Sybill adopted a much more normal tone. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him—"

"Imagine that," Minerva said sarcastically.

"I doubt," Albus called, his voice reverberating in a way that Minerva knew was meant to be calling her back to her best behavior, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Severus. However, he looked at Minerva, vague amusement in his features. Sybill and her theatrics had always been a point of agreement for them.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time." He seized a platter of bright red sausages. "Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."

Dinner resumed its normal course from thereon, and for two hours, they enjoyed delicious food and an unusual collection of conversation; Demelza and Derek, who, it transpired, had been friends since a very early age, had decided to stay at school for the holiday because Derek's parents had gone to Turkey on business, and Demelza's parents had gone with them. Demelza was very interested in advanced Transfiguration, and was asking detailed questions about her school years to come, when, at the other end of the table, both Potter and Weasley rose from the table, and a high-pitched scream deafened Minerva in her right ear.

"For goodness' sake, Sybill!"

Sybill pointed a shaking hand at the two boys, who were frozen in the act of balancing their armloads of prizes from their Christmas crackers and looking bewildered. "My dears! Which of you left his seat first? _Which?"_

"Dunno," said Weasley slowly, looking worriedly at Potter.

Minerva was still rubbing her fingers against her throbbing right ear. "I doubt it will make much difference, unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall," she snapped.

The entire table erupted into laughter, and Harry and Ron both laughed. Sybill looked scandalized, and the party went on. Minerva, however, had noticed that Granger hadn't left with the boys. Frowning, she too stood up from the table. Sybill seemed determined not to notice, as though she felt that Minerva could take on as many mad axe-men as she liked. With a gesture, Minerva summoned Hermione, who followed her from the Great Hall.

"Professor—"

"Just a minute, Miss Granger," said Minerva as they climbed the stairs. "Whatever it is can wait until we're in my office."

They reached her door and Minerva let Hermione in first. She stood, fidgeting nervously on the hearthrug, until Minerva had lit the lamps and sat down. "Now. What do you need, Miss Granger?"

"Harry was sent a broomstick for Christmas," Hermione burst out, looking inexplicably close to tears.

Minerva blinked, wondering if her senses were still a bit dulled. "You aren't first years anymore, Hermione. Broomsticks are allowed. And Potter needed a new one, I'm not surprised he's ordered—"

"No, that's just it—" Hermione made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a sigh, clutching at her hair. She began to pace. "I went to see them this morning, and Harry said it was just a gift, that it was just there when he woke up—they were going to ride it, but then Crookshanks—well, he tried to kill Scabbers again, and then Ron tried to _kick_ him—oh, but they're going to be furious I'm here—maybe I'm being stupid—"

Minerva stood up and held out her hands, steering Hermione into a chair. "Go back. Explain to me exactly what you think happened. Who is Crookshanks?"

Hermione stared up at her for a moment, and then blinked. "Oh—that—doesn't really matter, I suppose. He's my cat. But the reason I'm here is that Harry was sent a broomstick, Professor, a really, really good one—a Firebolt. But he doesn't know who sent it, and there was no note. I thought that—what if—Sirius Black sent it?"

Minerva frowned. "You're sure that none of you misplaced the card?" Even as she asked it, she knew that Potter, in spite of his family inheritance, was not in possession of relatives, or even friends, who would have the means—or the desire, in the case of Lily's sister—to make such an extravagant purchase for him. The Black family fortunes, on the other hand, were extensive and legendary… but how could Sirius Black have accessed his family's vault at Gringotts without being noticed?

"I wasn't there when they unwrapped it, but…"

Minerva decided, then and there. She wasn't interested in risking Potter's neck over a broomstick, even a Firebolt. It wouldn't take more than a few weeks to determine its safety, after all. "Come with me, Miss Granger."

"Wait—Professor, maybe—maybe you could wait a few days—they're going to hate me—"

"You've acted in the best interest of your friends," Minerva told her as they walked. "They will have to get over it. And after all, this isn't a permanent confiscation, if the broom is safe."

"Confiscation?" Hermione squeaked, horrified.

They had reached Gryffindor Tower, and after a moment in which Hermione stared up at Minerva anxiously, she gave the password— _'scurvy cur'_ —to a very drunk Sir Cadogan. In the common room, they found Potter and Weasley gazing as though hypnotized at the Firebolt.

Clearly panicked, Hermione hurried to sit down at the far side of the room from Minerva, lifting a book—upside-down—to hide her face.

"So that's it, is it?" Minerva asked, frowning at the Firebolt. Potential dangers aside, it truly was beautiful. "Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter. May I?"

She plucked it from Potter's grip and scrutinized the broom carefully. A registration number… surely those could be faked… but if the broom was a fake, it was a good one. "Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?"

"No," said Potter, with the look of someone who knows something is closing in on him.

"I see," Minerva sighed. "Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."

"W-what?" Potter jumped to his feet. "Why?"

"It will need to be checked for jinxes," she explained calmly. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—"

"Strip it down?" repeated Weasley, looking horrified.

"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks," Minerva assured them. "You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Harry insisted. "Honestly, Professor—"

"You can't know that, Potter," Minerva told him gently, but firmly, "not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed," she promised.

And with that, she left the common room, heading directly for Albus's office.

* * *

"How unreasonable have I been?" she asked ten minutes later, when she had explained everything that had transpired. Albus was gazing at the Firebolt, which hovered just above his desk.

"I don't think you've been unreasonable at all," Filius said, as he too scrutinized the broomstick. "It would be an unnecessarily complicated way to get to Potter, of course, given that Black has proven his ability to enter the castle… but then, he hasn't attempted _that_ a second time…"

Minerva nodded. "I'd thought of that." She was frowning curiously at Albus, whose expression was inscrutable. "Albus."

"I think… that all precautions are good ones… at least until we have more information." His silver eyebrows were knit thoughtfully.

"What on earth does that mean?" Minerva asked bluntly.

Albus seemed to pull out of his reverie, though he still looked—concerned, somehow, as though he were considering something weighty and difficult. "Filius, take the broom and do what you can. Working with Rolanda is a very good idea."

"I don't mind telling you, from first glance, this looks like a bona fide Firebolt," said Filius, shaking his head. Clearly wanting to restore some levity, he added, "but I'll be happy to hold onto it until after the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw match."

"Chang is stiff competition, even against a Firebolt," Minerva said with a slight smile, as Filius reached up and took the broom. "Thank you, Filius."

"We'll have it sorted out soon. Good night!" he squeaked as he left the office.

Albus rose and walked to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him. Minerva crossed her arms and frowned at him. "What are you thinking?"

He shook his head. "Far too many things, I'm afraid."

"You're wondering why, when _breaking into the castle_ failed, Black would attempt to kill Potter from a distance," Minerva guessed. "I'm wondering the same thing."

Albus's nod was noncommittal. He looked at Minerva, and she had the feeling that he was not entirely present—that some part of him was examining the events of a Halloween night more than a decade ago. "I am wondering if I have been very, very wrong."

"What?" she asked, nonplussed.

"It's been known to happen, you know," he chuckled unexpectedly. "It's certainly possible now." Minerva didn't smile. Albus sighed. "Sometimes, pieces I've felt were arranged correctly… can make a very different picture on reexamination."

Minerva considered this for several moments. Then, she snapped her mind shut to the possibilities Albus hinted at and stood up. "Don't let Remus hear you talking like that," she said, her tone even but firm. "It was hard enough for him to accept what Black did to Lily and James. I don't know what alternative versions of history you're considering, but you have to be very careful, Albus."

He looked at her and then opened his palms in an honest, open gesture. "I have no alternatives to consider, at present."

Minerva's hand was on the door. Still feeling troubled—not by Albus, but rather by something she could neither see nor name—she slipped out of the office with a quiet, "Happy Christmas."


	12. Strain

Phew. It's been that kind of week, huh?

* * *

29 January 1994

"Unless you're here to tell me my request for retirement benefits has been approved at last and I can travel immediately to Greece and never return, you can turn right around and leave me alone."

Remus shut the door of her office, a ghost of a smile on his face. "You'd never retire. You'd come back here and backseat-fly whoever took over the Transfiguration department." He sat down. "Why Greece?"

Minerva's lips twitched. "Finn and I spent our anniversaries there."

He smiled a little more. "And why so strained?"

She made an impatient noise. "I stopped just short of putting my Seeker into detention this morning."

"Ah, the infamous Firebolt," said Remus knowingly.

"Oh, good, you've heard about it too," Minerva replied.

"Harry might have mentioned it the other night."

Minerva snorted. "I also found Hermione Granger in my classroom at the wrong hour, and I am fairly certain she _lied_ to me when I asked if she'd mixed up her schedule and used the Time-Turner incorrectly."

"And you've never been lied to by a student," Remus supplied helpfully.

She gave him a look. "Not by Granger, I haven't."

"Point taken," he replied. "She's seemed a bit strained herself, lately."

"I've noticed. She's always been capable as a student, but I've wondered if she's taken on too much this year. I feel a bit responsible," she said. Remus frowned. "Well, I got the Time-Turner for her… and then there's _the infamous Firebolt._ When I confiscated it, I made it rather clear it was she who'd told me about it." Remus winced. "I know, not one of my finest moments, but I was rather caught off guard. She kept saying Potter and Weasley would hate her for it, but I told her they would have to get over it. I didn't really think either of them would take it so seriously. I haven't had it destroyed, after all, though I certainly thought about it."

"Oof," said Remus. "There's the Professor McGonagall I lived in fear of."

"I beg your pardon?" Minerva asked, shocked.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just that in my day, we always lived in respectful, abject fear of you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Very amusing, I'm sure. I don't recall that abject fear stopping you and your friends…" she trailed off, and they shared a tense smile. Minerva shook her head. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"I was wondering if you could give me a little teaching advice," said Remus. "I've hit a bit of a block with Harry. He's able to make a shield Patronus fairly well, now… but that won't do much unless a dementor comes close enough to… well…"

Minerva folded her hands under her chin. "How can I help?"

"Give me a bit of… encouragement?" Remus looked sheepish. She nodded. "Do you remember what you thought of to conjure your first full-fledged Patronus?"

"Vividly," Minerva smiled. Even now, she felt a warm sensation behind her breastbone. "I was… oh, sixteen or so. I had a childhood memory of my father playing his bagpipes—poorly—in our garden. My mother was pregnant with my first brother, Rob. It was…" She trailed off again, this time a little emotional. She met Remus's eye, a little embarrassed to have simply said all this. She cleared her throat. "If he's lacking in joyous childhood memories, it's not surprising. But… I happen to know he's had many wonderful experiences in his time here."

"My first Patronus was easy," Remus confessed. "Seventh year—I thought about the first time James and Peter and… when they found out about me, and they stuck around, anyway."

Minerva blinked, and her throat seemed to tighten suddenly. She smiled and nodded. "I can imagine that."

"He hears James," said Remus suddenly. Minerva stared at him. "And Lily. When the dementors get close, he can hear—the last moments…"

He cleared his throat and stood up, facing away from her for a moment. Minerva took this like blow to the chest, sitting back in her chair. She understood why Remus had wanted to visit, now. Who else could he confess this to?

"Oh, dear," she said heavily.

He turned to face her again. "I'm sorry to just say it like that, I—" he looked confused.

Minerva turned up one corner of her mouth. "Even teachers we lived in fear of can be good confidants. I'm glad to be yours, Remus."

He smiled. "I am, too."

There came a knock at the door. Minerva signaled for Remus to wait and called, "Come in."

Oliver Wood appeared, grinning brightly, and Minerva felt her warm feelings dissipate. She sat up straight. "I hope you aren't here to ask what I think you're going to ask, Mr. Wood."

"I only wanted to—er—very gently remind you that most of the literature says Firebolts take upwards of twelve practice hours for the player to get used—"

"And I would like to remind you of where your priorities should lie," Minerva cut him off. "Your players should _always_ be alive and well at the end of a game! As I've told Potter countless times, I will _tell_ him when we have finished our examinations! We are currently checking for Hurling Hexes and—"

"Well, even if it threw him off, he'd probably still have a fighting chance at catching the Snitch first, right?" Wood smiled hopefully.

"WOOD!"

"Only joking, Professor—"

" _Perhaps you'd like the detention I very nearly offered Mr. Potter this morning?!"_ Minerva shouted, standing up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus slipping out of the office door, barely disguising his laughter, and made a mental note to restore a little of his respectful, abject fear later.


	13. Nightmare

Well, fancy meeting all of you here.

If I tried to tell you about the last year of my life, you wouldn't believe it. Promotions and grad school and near-death experiences abound! But she's got time and energy now, kids, so HERE. WE. GO.

Welcome back. I missed you. If you write me a note, I'll send you your own little letter telling you just how much. :)

* * *

5 February 1994

"So. Harry has his broomstick."

"Yes, I'm eminently merciful that way," Minerva said, looking at Remus as he caught up to their group making its way to the stands.

"I tried to think of a few more jinxes to check for, but for the sake of Minerva's sanity, I thought it ought to be returned," Filius squeaked, shrugging. "It's a fine piece of equipment, and Potter is a very lucky young man."

Pomona laughed. "It's not all about the broom!" she said cheerfully.

"Wait until you see this one," Minerva told her, tugging her cloak tighter about her shoulders. "It's something else altogether. Rolanda says she's never seen anything like it. Remus?"

He had stopped at the base of the steps to the stands. "The last time I was at a Gryffindor Quidditch match, I had to sit over there." He pointed to where the red-and-gold mass of students was gathering. He climbed the stairs as Minerva smiled at him.

The midmorning sunlight shone weakly over the cloaked and mufflered crowd as the Captains shook hands and the match began. From the get-go, Minerva felt a soaring envy in her stomach as she watched Potter hurtle past. Rolanda hadn't been telling tales… it was a beautiful broom, and flew like nothing she'd ever seen. Privately, she wondered whether her nephew Tommy might be able to get her access to one for a test flight through his job at the Quidditch League…

Publicly, however, Lee Jordan was driving her mad about the stupid thing.

"It really is something, isn't it?"

"Not you too!" Minerva barked at Remus, just as a misaimed Bludger boomeranged over the stands and shot back towards the pitch.

Jordan was bellowing into his microphone. "Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go!"

There was a massive groan from the Ravenclaw section as George Weasley hit a Bludger and nearly unseated one of their Beaters.

"Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn—Chang's Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision-balance is really noticeable in these long—"

Beside her, Remus started laughing, and Minerva shouted, "JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"

Ravenclaw had scored three times, closing the gap to only fifty points. Another groan issued from the stands, this time from the Gryffindor supporters. Minerva saw Chang block Potter and fly off; Wood yelled something at Potter, and he seemed to adopt a new strategy. He shot off towards the other goalposts, and Chang followed him.

"He's seen it!" Pomona cried, pointing at Potter, who suddenly fell into a deep dive that Chang copied precisely—not a bad strategy for fighting back against a much faster broom, Minerva thought, but…

"He hasn't," she said, shaking her head—and a second later, Potter pulled sharply out of the dive, and Chang only just managed to avoid a crash landing.

"Minerva!" Remus's voice came sharp and sudden. He was pointing, not at Harry, but at—

"On the pitch! Look!"

Three dementors had gathered, and were gazing directly up at the players above. Minerva was out of her seat in a second, Remus sprinting after her. They reached the grass in no time and drew their wands together—

And then the strangest thing happened. From directly overhead, an enormous silver shadow emerged—it appeared that Potter had conjured it, and was now soaring away from the dementors on his Firebolt—

The Patronus had a clear, fully defined form that was too dazzling to make out in the bright sun—but it charged the dementors and bowled them over like a pile of children's blocks before dissolving into nothing.

An echoing roar rose from the stands—something tremendous had happened, but Minerva's attention was on what she saw as she approached the wriggling pile of black hoods on the ground. She stormed straight towards them, while Lupin wandered in the direction of the screaming Gryffindor team.

"What the bloody hell was that, Goyle?!" Draco Malfoy shrieked at the figure next to him, who was tangled in the lower half of the same set of robes and only recognizable by his massive feet.

Vincent Crabbe and Marcus Flint were stripping off their hoods. "How should we know?!" Flint shouted back. "You said—"

"Gentlemen!" Minerva barked, and the four Slytherins looked up at her, shock registering on their faces one by one. "I would like to know the same thing, if you please! What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?!"

"Ah," Malfoy began, but the look on his face was quite enough for Minerva.

"An unworthy trick!" she shouted at him. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!"

Sure enough, Albus had materialized—perhaps someone had summoned him at the first sign of the 'dementors', or perhaps he had been hanging about and had not cared to be noticed until now.

"Yes, I can take it from here, Professor," he said, giving her a look that seemed to indicate that he thought she ought to take a moment to breathe. She drew herself up and nodded. "Gentlemen, I think a word with Professor Snape is in order as well… do follow me…"

It was then, watching the four Slytherin boys trip and stumble away after Dumbledore, that Minerva realized something else—

Gryffindor had won.

* * *

The noise from the party in Gryffindor Tower was raucous enough that Minerva could still hear it in her private rooms at ten o'clock when she retired to bed that night—after a small celebration with Remus, Pomona, and a good-natured, if disappointed Filius at the Three Broomsticks, she was feeling generous, and decided against interrupting them. It was the weekend, after all, and she was exhausted.

At one o'clock in the morning, however, when the party showed no signs of slowing down and, indeed, seemed to be growing louder, she put on her dressing gown and interrupted a miniature firework display to send every single one of them to bed.

So it was with great relief that she sank into her bed and fell asleep almost at once, her bedroom now bathed in peace and quiet…

It was a dream about flying—very quickly, on a Firebolt, she realized—that became interrupted by screams… who was screaming? She looked down at the earth below her broomstick, but could see no one…

She was awake suddenly. Scarcely an hour of sleep…and the Gryffindors were back at it. Minerva made a furious noise and rolled out of bed once again. Sir Cadogan bowed as she approached the portrait hole. "Welcome back, madam—"

" _Bellytimber!"_ she barked, and the painting swung open at once, muffling his enthusiastic greeting. She climbed through the portrait hole, slamming it behind her, and said loudly, "Now, really, enough's enough! I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous!"

There was a large crowd of Gryffindors still gathered in the common room, standing at the bottom of the dormitory staircases. Minerva found Percy Weasley standing in the center of the group.

She threw her hands up in frustration. "Percy, I expected better of you!"

"I certainly didn't authorize this, Professor!" Percy replied indignantly. "I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare—"

Minerva's attention snapped to Ron, who looked absolutely panicked, his face pale and sweaty. He interrupted Percy and shouted, "IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" He looked at Minerva. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!"

Minerva stared back at him. Her eyes traveled over the four boys closest to him—Potter, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, all of whom were in their pajamas and looked quite as frightened as Ron. "Don't be ridiculous, Weasley," she said slowly. "How could he possibly have gotten through the portrait hole?"

"Ask him!" shouted Ron, his eyes wide with fear. He pointed at the portrait hole, towards the back of Sir Cadogan's painting. "Ask him if he saw—"

Minerva narrowed her eyes, but, determined to put this nonsense, whatever it was—a prank, a nightmare, or simply a lie to cover up bad behavior—to rest, she went back out of the portrait hole and pushed open the painting, this time leaving it ajar to speak to the belligerent knight.

"Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?" she asked calmly.

Sir Cadogan beamed broadly and said, "Certainly, good lady!"

Minerva's insides froze, and she felt suddenly winded. "You—you did? But—but the password!" she stammered.

"He had 'em!" said Sir Cadogan, as if scandalized that she thought he might have abandoned his duty. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

Her eyes wide, her heart pounding, Minerva retreated numbly into the portrait hole. She gazed about the room for a moment, taking in the terrified faces of the Gryffindors who had clearly heard every word, and now huddled next to one another more tightly, some swiveling their heads as though they thought something monstrous was about to emerge from the shadows. Now something new, something almost like anger, but more like fear, was forming behind Minerva's breastbone.

"Which person," she clenched her teeth together and ground out the question, "which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords and _left them lying around?"_

The Gryffindors all stilled, suddenly seeming to realize that it was not Sirius Black they should be worried about. A few eyes flicked back and forth.

Then there was a frightened squeak from somewhere near Ron Weasley, and a trembling hand was lifted into the air. Longbottom.


	14. Accusation

Be kind to me! I'm still getting back in the habit. :)

* * *

6 February 1994

This had to be the first time, Minerva thought, that a Heads of House meeting had ever involved pajamas and dressing gowns. Her heart was still skipping erratically as she stood between Severus and Pomona before Albus's desk, though it had been hours since her conversation with Sir Cadogan had prompted another school-wide search. The rest of the staff were concluding the search now, with Argus and Remus supervising.

"If necessary, Albus, I don't think there's anyone in this room who wouldn't support your decision to leave the dementors out of this," Filius was saying. He looked nervous, but resolute. "None of us could bear the idea of allowing them in the castle…"

Albus sat in his desk chair, his gaze unfocused upon Fawkes's tail. The phoenix was asleep, its head under one wing. "Thank you, Filius. I understand your unspoken concern… but I have no reason to believe that the school governors would seek to have me removed again. Those who were most anxious during last year's turmoil have apparently moved on."

"To having hippogriffs put on trial for being hippogriffs," Pomona muttered.

"In any case," Minerva said, "we still need to be prepared for Cornelius Fudge's reaction. He's going to hear about this sooner than later, and I'll be stunned if he doesn't make a fuss and insist on more dementors—more security."

"I shall pay Cornelius a visit in person this morning," Albus said, "and make every effort to have him understand why that will not be possible." There was a steely look in his eye that Minerva liked; it was reassuring to see at the end of this long, sleepless night.

"Aren't we forgetting the most important aspect of this evening's drama?" Severus drawled suddenly, and everyone—except Albus—turned to look at him. "A slightly more pressing security concern?"

"That will do, Severus, thank you," Albus began, when there came three sharp knocks at the office door. "Come in."

Remus Lupin stuck his head into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt…"

"We were nearly done, Remus," Minerva assured him, giving Severus a quick, sharp glare. "What is it?"

"We haven't been able to find any trace of him," Remus said, looking strained and apologetic. "Argus is checking all the secret passageways, and I've—the rest of us have been looking every possible place I can think of."

Albus nodded. "That is not unexpected, Remus. Thank you for your efforts."

"It's lucky this happened on a night when you were _available_ , Lupin," Snape snarled unexpectedly, "we wouldn't want to miss having our top Dark Arts expert on hand to check _every possible place he can think of."_

"Severus," Minerva said sharply.

Remus barely batted an eye. He stepped into the office and shut the door, then clasped his hands in front of himself. "Do you have something you'd like to say to me, Severus?"

"I merely wished to point out the appreciation we all have for your ability to _lend a hand_ ," Snape said in a silky voice. "You've always been good about that."

Filius stepped forward. "Severus, that's enough."

Minerva looked over her shoulder at Albus, who was not intervening, but watching the exchange with intense focus.

Remus didn't hesitate. "You have an accusation for me, then? Fine. But before you level it, I really ought to remind you that as _available_ as I am tonight, I was equally unavailable the last time we had to turn the castle upside down looking for Black." He held out his hands, palms open. His expression was grim. "You've got a shot at making me seem responsible for tonight, I admit, although I'd very much like to see you do those backflips, but even a week's doses of Wolfsbane Potion can't make me civilized enough to unlock doors without slaughtering the person on the other side."

Minerva looked away, her jaw set.

Pomona made a small, anxious noise. "Remus, no, of course that's not—"

" _Thank_ you, Remus." Albus had risen, but he was not looking at Lupin; he had pinned Snape with his gaze. Severus worked his jaw mutinously for a moment, his dark eyes flicking over each of them and meeting a stone wall. Finally, he stormed past Lupin and out the door.

There was a long silence.

"You may all return to tell your Houses the castle is safe," Albus said softly. "Perhaps the students can salvage a few hours' sleep."

Filius went first, and Pomona followed; each stopped, as if to say something to Remus, but seemed to think better of it. Filius gave him a reassuring nod, and Pomona smiled tensely. Minerva hadn't moved. After Pomona had shut the door, Remus started to speak again, his gaze trained, apparently in shame, on the floor.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"There is no trust that must be proven here, Remus," Albus said, his tone no longer soft, but carrying and strong. He was moving around his desk, collecting his traveling cloak and a broomstick from a hidden cupboard among his bookshelves.

Minerva put a hand on Remus's arm and squeezed. He caught her eye, looking sorry, but grateful. "He's right. Severus…" she trailed off.

"I know," Remus replied.

"And you're not uncivilized," Minerva told him, her voice almost cracking under her sincerity.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, giving a half-chuckle. "I think that part remains to be seen."

"A universal truth, I fear," Albus said lightly, as he picked up a stack of things from his desk and slipped them into a briefcase he had apparently just conjured. "Now, I suggest that you both go and get some rest."


	15. Dropped

Double posts, my loves! To make up for last week, when I zoned out. Also I owe y'all. :) Smooches!

* * *

14 April 1994

The search the night of Sirius Black's second break-in was the first of a number of sleepless nights Minerva experienced in the weeks that followed. This wasn't due entirely to the looming threat of Black, although she was now in the habit of checking on the security trolls who stood guard in front of the Fat Lady (at last, and with much convincing, restored to her proper place) all but hourly.

Rather, Minerva was becoming increasingly concerned about two people—Hagrid, and Hermione Granger. Hagrid had lost his trial for Buckbeak the hippogriff in February, and while Minerva was sorry for him, and sick at heart that the creature was likely headed for the block in spite of the appeal Hagrid was attempting to mount, Minerva was more worried about what his grief was doing to his teaching. She wasn't one to buy into the rumor mill, but however safe (or boring, depending on the student) Hagrid's classes might now be, the fact remained that he was not exactly exuding confidence in his new role. He still attended all-staff meetings and would come to her office for their appointed lesson planning times––although those were becoming fewer and farther between––but he just seemed to have had all the wind taken out of his sails.

Even more worrying, however, was Hermione Granger's wellbeing. Every one of the girl's teachers (the majority of the staff, at this point) had been to see Minerva with concerns about the increasing strain she seemed to be under; well, all of them except Severus, and that irritated Minerva more than all the rest put together, as it seemed to be a pointed message of _I told you so_.

But of course, Minerva wasn't truly irritated with the faculty, or with Hermione––she was furious with herself for letting things get so far without intervention. Pomona had tried to convince her that Granger's struggles hadn't started until after the Christmas holidays, and seemed to have more to do with her isolation than an overburdened schedule, but Minerva felt responsible.

In the last week, Hermione had dodged two appointments Minerva had made with her, and if that didn't merit what Minerva had done this morning to get her attention, she didn't think anything would.

The bell signaling the start of break rang as Minerva was finishing her tea. She set aside the letter she was writing to Augusta (assuring her that poor judgment notwithstanding, there was no risk of Neville being expelled from school), folded her hands, and waited. Within ten seconds, there was a fluttering, urgent knock at her office door.

"Come in," she called, and the door swung open. Hermione hurried in, looking distressed. "Miss Granger, have a seat."

"Professor, I—"

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," Minerva said, moving a stack of parchment and producing her tartan biscuit tin.

"Yes, but—" Hermione dropped unceremoniously into one of the chairs, her bookbag _thunk_ -ing heavily on the floor. "I came to ask about—"

"There are Ginger Newts in here, and there may be a bit of shortbread left if my N.E.W.T. study group has had the decency to leave any for you," Minerva continued as she prized off the lid. "They can be dreadfully single-minded when it comes to their desire for sweets."

She was employing a tactic of Albus's, that she knew very well would eventually frustrate Granger into silence—because that was always how it worked on Minerva. She prodded the biscuit tin across the desk top towards Hermione, who stared back at her in silence. Good––she'd gotten the message.

"Can I offer you some tea?" Minerva lifted an eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head, and they stared at each other for another long moment; then, hesitantly, the girl reached for a piece of shortbread and took a wary bite, not breaking eye contact. She looked terribly worn out, Minerva thought, with dark shadows under her eyes and an air about her that indicated she was very nearly ready to fall apart.

Minerva nodded. "Now, what is it you wished to speak with me about?"

Granger chewed and swallowed. "I… I was surprised by the grade I got on my essay. I know it wasn't my best work, but a twelve out of twenty…"

"Is a grade you will recover from, given your usual performance in my class," Minerva cut her off gently, then frowned seriously over the top of her glasses. "If there is time for that in your demanding schedule. And to that end…"

"Oh, _please_ don't say I've got to drop a course," Hermione exclaimed, sounding suddenly much more like a teenager than Minerva had ever heard her. Hermione had apparently heard it too, because she turned red. "I meant—Professor—I really am sorry, and—and I'll get back on track—"

"With your Divination studies as well?" Minerva asked pointedly. Granger's mouth snapped shut. Minerva leaned forward. "Professor Trelawney tells me you've _stopped attending_ her lessons?"

"Well…"

"I've had students skive a lesson or two," she tapped her fingers on her desk, "but a full week?"

Hermione looked very embarrassed. "Well… I _had_ meant to come and see you… about dropping Divination," she mumbled, looking down at her lap.

"So dropping a course _is_ an option you'd like to explore?" asked Minerva, trying not to make the question sound too supercilious. As it was, Hermione flushed an even darker pink.

"I think… I don't really want to keep going in Divination, Professor," she said, her expression becoming beseeching.

Minerva regarded her. "I can speak to Professor Trelawney. And as for the rest—"

"Oh—no, Professor, please—I want to keep everything else," Hermione said, sliding to the edge of her seat. Her eyes were shining with sincerity, which only added to her forlorn air of exhaustion. "Really, I do. Professor Burbage is wonderful, and I absolutely love Arithmancy—"

Minerva held up a hand. "All right, Miss Granger, I hear you. But that doesn't change how concern—" There came a few urgent knocks at her office door, and it swung open before she could respond. "Miss Bell, I am meeting with a student!" Minerva exclaimed, as Katie Bell barreled in, looking distressed.

"Sorry, Professor—sorry, Hermione," she added, nearly tripping over herself as she rushed to the desk, "but ma'am, one of those Slytherin a—" she changed tack when Minerva glared at her. "I mean, Warrington, he hexed Leanne on the way into Charms! Madam Pomfrey said to come and get you."

Minerva gave a slight groan. "That's the fourth time this week."

"I know, ma'am," Katie said meekly. "But I promise, it wasn't us who started it this time…"

"I ought to cancel the Championship match," Minerva said sharply. "All of you behaving like hooligans at the World Cup…"

"You wouldn't do that, Professor," Katie replied, with a half-smile, and Minerva fixed her with a steely look. Katie sobered her expression at once. "Please ma'am, Madam Pomfrey seemed pretty upset…"

Minerva sighed. "I don't blame her in the least." She shook her head and gestured Katie towards the door. "Tell Madam Pomfrey I'm on my way, Miss Bell."

Katie dashed from the office—but paused on her way through the door. "I just—I'd advise you to hurry, Professor—they've both got leeks—I think, or maybe onions—coming out of their ears, and Madam Pomfrey's having a hard time stopping it," she added.

Then the door snapped shut.

Minerva squeezed her eyes shut. "I ask you," she muttered, when a muffled sort of squeak made her open her eyes. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione was doubled over in her chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. Minerva felt a jolt of alarm and hurried around the desk, taking the seat beside her.

"Miss Granger, are you all right? Say something!"

"No, no," Hermione gasped, and when she lifted her face, Minerva could see she was laughing. "I'm—I'm fine," she managed to gasp out. "I just—I'm so tired—I think that was—was funnier—than it—" and she dissolved into laughter once again, clutching her sides.

Minerva, who had been sure she was witnessing a breakdown only seconds ago, allowed herself to sit back and smile, in spite of herself.

Finally, Hermione pulled herself together, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks and facing Minerva. "I— _hic_ —I'm sorry, it's really not funny."

Minerva patted her arm. "Well, it's nice to see you laugh, Miss Granger. But I would like to continue this conversation—" she checked her watch. "Perhaps after the Quidditch final, as my time seems to be in high demand. I want to discuss this course schedule, especially with your exams coming. You understand?"

Hermione nodded and stood, picking up her bag, which seemed to put her in danger of tipping over. "Yes ma'am, but really, I'll be all right."

Minerva nodded and watched her go.


	16. Cup

16 April 1994

"You're not celebrating?"

"Said who?" Minerva looked up from her pile of seventh year essays at Albus, who was standing in her doorway. She poked the end of her quill at the silver Quidditch Cup, which sat in pride of place on a table she'd conjured so that it could be in her line of sight.

Albus glanced at it and smiled. "It was a good match," he said.

"It was a spectacular match." Minerva sat back in her chair, flicking her wand so that some books levitated off a chair for him. "I haven't seen anything like it—since _my_ last match for Gryffindor, maybe. We've had some good teams since, but…" She shut her eyes, shaking her head as she remembered.

"I do believe you're basking, Minerva," Albus chuckled as he sat down.

"And what's the matter with that?" she demanded. "I'd like to know."

"Nothing," he laughed. "Ah, now that explains it." He pointed at the bottle she'd just produced from behind her desk and was now pouring into two glasses.

"I don't _have_ to offer you any of it, if you're going to be like that," Minerva said tartly. "It's Rosmerta's mead. Pomona brought it back for me."

Albus accepted his glass. "And you weren't feeling inclined to celebrate with her in Hogsmeade? I understand half the staff were there this afternoon."

Minerva gave him another look, this one more serious. "Two break-ins while I've been _in_ the building has been enough stress for me. Every time we get close to being able to celebrate, we get reminded…" She shook her head.

"Something on your mind?" Albus asked gently.

Minerva regarded him. "Why haven't they caught him yet? It's so strange. Where's he hiding, that he's hiding so well?"

Albus sighed, his expression becoming strangely sad. Minerva frowned. "That… is hard to say. He never was one for getting caught." The attempt at humor did not reach his voice or expression; he looked troubled.

"About this time last year," Minerva said, cutting through the extending silence, "I was looking at the prospect of running the school without you, with an open Chamber of Secrets, and our students being attacked left, right, and center."

"A challenge you overcame with grace," Albus said. Minerva frowned. "I'm not patronizing you, my dear, I am telling you the truth. That was a formidable feat that, even with your years of experience, was impressive to behold."

"Two twelve-year-olds found the entrance, Albus, not me," she said.

"And you were unswerving in your leadership, and that extra time proved invaluable to their efforts. You didn't waver under the pressure being applied by Cornelius and the governors," he told her.

Minerva waved her hand. "All right. Thank you. But that wasn't my point."

Albus sipped his drink, his silver brows raised.

"My point is that… awful as it was, I felt far more in control then. The danger was—well, if it wasn't quite predictable, it was at least a known entity. It was close by." She sighed. "This is… external."

Albus nodded. "Though I wonder about how unpredictable this has been," he added, after a moment's silence.

Minerva frowned at him. "I'm sorry?"

He shook his head slightly, looking down at his lap. Minerva sat forward. "Albus. You've been on about something since Christmas, since that Firebolt arrived—probably before. I know you, I can tell when you've got—a bee in your bonnet."

Albus chuckled again. "Such a charming Muggle expression."

"Albus," Minerva said sharply.

"My dear Minerva, I have nothing more than a few disjointed pieces of information—pieces that do not fit with the whole picture that I believed myself to understand," he said.

"You've said that," she replied. "What do you mean?"

"The Firebolt," Albus said, "to begin with."

"We've already determined that had nothing to do with Black," Minerva said. She raised an eyebrow. "Frankly, I thought _you_ might have gotten it for Potter."

Albus glanced at the Quidditch Cup. "I appreciate a Gryffindor victory nearly as much as you do, Minerva, but surely you know that I wouldn't commit such a serious breach of conduct."

"His aunt, then," Minerva said impatiently, "finally making up for being so—" She broke off and shook her head. "So why is the Firebolt one of your clues, then?"

"'Clue' is a strong word."

" _Albus."_

He held up both hands. "I am as curious as you are about Sirius Black's whereabouts, but I have found myself equally curious in his interests and motives for, say, not building the energy and momentum he would require to move in the open as a supporter of Lord Voldemort."

Minerva flinched. "Well, if he's after revenge on Harry Potter…"

"Sirius Black as we knew him was many things, Minerva," Albus said quietly. He was gazing into the light gleaming off the Quidditch Cup. "But do you believe he ever doubted our ability to defend Hogwarts? Do you think he has forgotten Voldemort's inability to gain a foothold in this castle, over eleven years?"

"Azkaban is known for the damage it can do to a healthy mind. He may not be thinking rationally," she replied. But she could hear in her own voice a note of a hard-to-define sensation that seemed to be bubbling to the surface of her mind. It was almost like being Albus's advanced Transfiguration student again, trying to poke holes in a problem presented for discussion.

"True," he conceded. His silver brows knit even further, and he looked suddenly very tired. Minerva felt a pang; she hadn't seen Albus show his age this way for a very long time. She held out a hand to him across the desk; he stared at it for a moment, and then took it in both of his own, giving her a slight, twinkling smile.

"How about a game of chess?" she asked.


	17. Appeal

He's coming, everybody! :O I think we'll be pretty much done with Azkaban after the next chapter. And then we're getting into the summer before Goblet of Fire! AUGH!

* * *

6 June 1994

The Great Hall was full of energy as it had not been all week long—the sun was shining gloriously and the enchanted ceiling was a brilliant, clear blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. The atmosphere of the last day of exams was palpable; even the staff were a bit giddy.

"The poor dear, a boggart is no joke," Pomona said, trying and failing to stop her laughter. "Even a boggart Minerva." She lapsed into hysterics and had to bury her face in her hands.

Remus grinned and Minerva shook her head, barely repressing a smile. "Hermione Granger," she sighed. "What am I going to do with that girl?"

"Make her Minister for Magic," Remus said seriously, and then he chuckled. "She ought to be up for the job in another year or two."

"Done and done," Minerva laughed. A series of cracks suddenly echoed from the entrance hall and she squeezed her eyes shut. "If that was the Weasley twins, I don't want to know about it."

Next came a series of screams—whether of terror or jubilation, it was hard to tell.

"I'm afraid so," Pomona said.

"I'm sorry to cut this short," said Minerva, rising at once.

"I'll come with you," Remus said. "An extra hand never hurts, and I'd like to get my grading done before this evening."

They said their goodbyes to Pomona, and as they walked away, Minerva raised her eyebrows. "You seem to be feeling well, I didn't realize you… had an appointment tonight."

The corner of Remus's mouth twitched. "I've been in a good mood," he explained, with a deferential sort of shrug. "You know, my mother used to tell me all the time that it was all about 'mind over matter.' I believed, like most adolescents, I think, that she just didn't understand. But…"

He paused, allowing two students to run between them into the Great Hall. They stopped on the threshold of the entrance hall, looking all around; there were no signs of Fred or George Weasley, or their Filibuster Fireworks.

"But?" Minerva asked.

"Well, then it turned out… that was the advice you gave me, too," Remus grinned.

"I gave you advice?" she repeated, surprised.

"Well, it usually came in the form of a stern reminder to get my Transfiguration homework done as soon as I left the hospital wing," he admitted, and Minerva gave a short laugh. "But the sentiment was there. And I've just… well, after this year, it's starting to feel like there might be some truth in that."

Minerva felt a well of emotion in her chest, and she grasped Remus's arm for a moment. "I'm so glad," she told him. There came another loud _bang,_ this one from outside the castle doors.

"I'll leave you to it," Remus said, with a laugh.

With a significant look, Minerva strode away, flinging open the front doors. Fred Weasley, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Oliver Wood were sprawled on the lawn, while George Weasley, atop his broomstick, flung sparklers into the air with his wand.

"Hi, Professor!" called Fred, whose face was smeared with ash, his fringe slightly singed. He gave her a big, cheerful wave. "Happy summer!"

"A bit premature, don't you think, Mr. Weasley? As I recall, all of you have examinations this afternoon!" she called back. "And I'll thank you not to set those off in the castle again, if you don't mind!"

Her reprimand was all but drowned out by a series of explosive bangs from the violet explosion of flame of a firework George had just set off in midair. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina applauded noisily. Wood whistled. Fred cupped a hand around his ear, still grinning. "Right you are, miss! Wouldn't dream of it!"

Minerva, however, was no longer listening. She was gazing at three figures making their way up the path from the winged boars at the gate, where she could just make out a few of the retreating backs of the specially assigned Aurors, who had obviously let them in.

One of the approaching three she recognized, even before she saw the lime green bowler hat—Cornelius Fudge. He was flanked on either side by one very tall, broad-shouldered wizard in black robes that contrasted sharply with the summery day, and one very small, wizened old man. Minerva's stomach clenched. They were here for Hagrid's hippogriff, she was sure—and as she thought this, she saw that the black-robed wizard was wearing an axe at his belt.

"Oh, dear," she muttered through her teeth, trying to neutralize her expression, for Fudge had seen her and was waving his hat as they climbed the path.

"Minerva, my dear," he said cheerfully, as though he were greeting her as his host at a garden party. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Minister," she replied stiffly, as he awkwardly took her hands and squeezed them in greeting. She glanced at his two companions. The executioner was eyeing her mistrustfully, but although she thought there was something familiar about him—and he was certainly young enough to have been one of her students—she couldn't place him. Up close, however, she did recognize the little old wizard from her own days at the Ministry—his name was Hubert Gaffler, and he was indeed on the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures; she'd thought him ancient then, but she'd apparently been quite wrong.

He evidently recognized her as well, for he squinted up at her for a moment and then exclaimed, "Mrs. Urquart! You're Finn Urquart's wife, aren't you?"

Minerva felt a nasty jolt in her stomach, and her cheeks burned. She opened her mouth, but Gaffler kept going. "How is old Finn?! I always said he retired too early! He—"

Even Fudge seemed a little embarrassed, for he hastily cut in, "No, no, Gaffler—Urquart's been dead—I mean, he passed away," he said, with a nervous look at Minerva, "almost ten years ago, now, isn't it?"

Minerva pressed her lips together tightly, unable to even begin formulating a response to this.

"Oh, that's right," Gaffler said, shaking his head, sounding for all the world like he'd just mixed up a coworker's birthday. He took Minerva's hand, shaking it. "I'm terribly sorry, but you know, it's hard to keep things like that straight, after all these years."

"Anyway," Fudge said, cutting across Gaffler again, "Minerva, my dear, we have a brief appointment with the headmaster—"

"He is in his office," she said crisply. "I'm sure you remember the way." She pointed to the castle doors.

Fudge stared at her in mild surprise, his mouth hanging slightly open as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Oh—well, yes, of course—"

"Well, by all means," Minerva told him, meeting his gaze with a cold evenness she could feel radiating from her very core. In her peripheral vision, she saw the Gryffindor Quidditch players turning and looking at the conversation taking place on the step. "Don't let me stop you. I have an appointment myself. Gentlemen," she added, with a curt nod before she swept off down the steps, walking blindly in the general direction of the forest.

The Weasleys and their friends, apparently attuned to the sense of foreboding that Minerva was giving off, gathered themselves up in a hurry and headed off in a different direction down the lawn.

Minerva kept going, rankled by Fudge's clear expectation of her helpfulness and serving as a housekeeper. She wasn't sure where she was going, first, apart from as far away from Fudge as possible—but then she realized exactly where she ought to go.

Hagrid answered his door immediately, clearly nervous and upset. His agitation seemed to lighten a bit when he saw Minerva, but he still frowned. "Oh, er—hullo, Professor," he said. "C'mon in—"

"It's Minerva, Hagrid, really," she insisted, "and I haven't—I only wanted to tell you, I know that you will do a wonderful job this afternoon with—"

"Buckbeak," he supplied hastily, and she nodded.

"With Buckbeak's appeal." Minerva put a hand on his arm, unchecked emotions burning in the back of her throat. "And that—even if it doesn't go the way you'd hoped," she pressed on, "please, _please_ don't think for a moment that it's your fault."

Hagrid watched her, his black eyes welling with tears, apparently too overcome to speak. Then he opened his arms wide and pulled Minerva into the tightest hug she had ever endured.

"Oof—that's—that's all right, Hagrid," she managed to gasp out, as she was practically lifted off her feet.


End file.
